


The Theory of Silence and Storms

by lysanatt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, BDSM, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, D/s, Exhibitionism, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Minor Character Death, No dubious consent, Piercings, Praise Kink, Romance, Safe-sane-consensual BDSM, Slavery, Sounding, Voyeurism, happy end, loss of personhood, power-play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 105,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1475716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysanatt/pseuds/lysanatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since the High Lord and his children took over Earth a century ago, winning the Cage has been the fast lane to fame and fortune for the champion. Defeat is not as pleasant: the loser is sold to the highest bidder. Of course Dean had to try. And to be honest, Dean thought that he would be the one on the podium after the last fight. Instead he is kneeling in the dirt, battered and bruised, the lords and ladies of America fighting to buy him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Leaves Are Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Edit progress: currently re-editing ch 11.
> 
> **NOTE: I have just discovered that A03 somehow never registered the updated versions of the chapters that originally were uploaded as drafts and edited before GBB posting commenced. That means that the entire fic consists of chapters in a state between second rewrite and beta state, which again means that the fic is a mess, and obviously that I have to edit all of it all over again *cries *. The story as such is sound enough in the current version, read if you can overlook the errors and lack of edits - or bookmark and come back after editing - will update here.**
> 
>  **Also, note that if you, like me, like to do the final editing in A03's editor, don't. The error seems to be related to this (posted in case you read this and use the draft feature):**
> 
> **"Currently the draft feature can not be used to repeatedly edit and save a work or chapter. The draft will only be saved once. You can then edit and post in order to retain those changes. If you edit your draft, preview and don't post, the changes will be lost and the draft reverts back to the first version that has been saved. Our coders are working on improving this feature."**
> 
> **Link to themothandthestar's art here: ([X](http://mothandstars.livejournal.com/1888.html)) - NSFW!**
> 
> It was such a pleasure to have themothandthestars as my artist. Not only do we share a love for architecture, but Moth managed to create a piece of beautiful, erotic art that portrays Dean exactly as I imagined him in this story. Never have Dean been so sexy and pretty. Thanks for your hard work, Moth!
> 
> Note: Sex between characters is fully consensual. There is nothing going on that isn't safe, sane and consensual, despite Dean's status and lack of rights.
> 
> All chapter titles from Shelley's _Ode to the West Wind_. The fic was inspired by an RBB [prompt](http://i.imgur.com/uUt0JNz.jpg) from Whogate who wished for "BDSM or Slave! with Bottom/Collared!Dean" (used by permission from Whogate). Thanks for alpha/beta-help to Whitmerule and lerualeaves, and for last-minute assistance and cheering to kabal42 and theknottyknitter. Any remaining errors are mine.

The sand is soft and rough at the same time. He sinks into it, done, no more to give. His thoughts are straggling, dragging behind him, hanging on to the shattered remains of brutal reality. The heaviness of sand and darkness is tugging at him. _I've lost_ is the last coherent thought that slips through his mind before he gives in to the pleasant, painless night, accompanied by the sound of the crowd going mad. 

"Benny! Benny! Benny!" 

Then there is no more, nothing but black velvet embracing him gently, shrouding his worries and hurt.

When he comes to, the crowd is still shouting and chanting Benny's name. Somewhere very far away Dean can hear Sam's desperate, "Dean, no! Heaven, no!" The heavy metal grids that make up the fighting cage rattle as the spectators are trying to rip it apart. Blue and red spotlights flash. Dean's head hurts. It's like a buzzing beehive of pain. The honey-slick-and-slow confusion makes it difficult to open his eyes. Maybe he doesn't want to face his defeat. it's easier to stay in the gentle, forgiving darkness. Dean flinches as a hand touches his shoulder. He recognizes the voice, but right now he can't remember to whom it belongs.

"You need to get up, Winchester. You'd want to do this standing."

Yeah. He does. He went into the Cage, proud of his strength. He fought his way through the tournament, twelve months of exhausting fights, eradicating one opponent after another on his road to fame and fortune. He took down all of them. All of them except Benny Lafitte. Tonight, Benny is the one who will be worshiped, adored, admired. Tonight, Benny will become a wealthy man when the Forever-Lords celebrate Benny's win, presenting him with the prize.

Benny's prize. The price that Dean is going to pay.

It was a chance he took willingly, he is all too well aware. It was the road to a better life for him and for Sam. He could have won; he _should_ have won. Only he didn't and his life is no longer his own. 

The referee squeezes his shoulder again. There's a soft brush of a damp cloth across Dean's face; a strangely gentle gesture towards someone such as he. Someone without rights.

"Come on, Dean," the referee urges. "You went in proud, now leave in the same manner. Make us all proud. It's only a year. It's over before you know it."

Dean nods, a grave mistake. His head still hurts like a bitch. Dean takes a breath, and another, forcing down nausea and shame. Pride, yes. The referee knows what she's talking about. Miss Masters went through what Dean is going to go through. All the Seconds did. He owes it to the first losers—and to himself— to stand proud, to accept his destiny with dignity. He knew this could happen, his defeat, but he didn't really think it would. Maybe was a bit too prideful, and losing to Benny is simply Fate's way of taking him down a notch. Then again, Dean doesn't believe in fate. He believes in strength. Tonight he wasn't strong enough. It's as simple as that.

Slowly Dean opens his eyes, staring into the high ceiling, at people outside the Cage. There's a camera zooming in on him, broadcasting his bleeding face to millions of viewers. Far up, just underneath the elaborately decorated ceiling of the dome, he can see the boxes. Up there, so very far away from him, far away from the blood-smeared dirt floor they sit, the Forever-Lords, the ones who allow this amazingly cruel form of entertainment. A blue spotlight hits the largest box. Dean knows who it belongs to: the King of America, The High Lord Chuck, him and his queen, Magda. 

"I suppose I can't lie here all night," Dean grins at the camera, pulling up his give-'em-hell attitude like a wall between himself and the vultures on the other side of the screen. He is not going to show any weakness. He will not give them the satisfaction. Ignoring Meg's hand, Dean stands. He moves slowly, pushing down the nausea that threatens to send him right back into the sand. He's good at it: pretending he's cool, that he's all right, that it doesn't matter what happens to him.

*

"Really, brother? You believe I'll let you win?" Lucifer, Lord of Ice, stares at Gabriel in disbelief. "Fine. He's yours. But I'll have you know that if the other brother had competed, I would not have been as compliant. Have I mentioned that I do not approve of your appalling double standards, by the way?"

"If it had been the other Winchester, you wouldn't have let me have him at all. So let's discuss double standards again, why don't we, Bro?" Gabriel snorts. Lucifer is incredible. He has taste, though, when it comes to men. Both the Winchester brothers are handsome, but Gabriel is not truly interested in Sam Winchester, not like he is interested in the older brother. Sam Winchester appears to be cultured and intelligent, just the type that Lucifer likes, but Dean is sharp and strong and lean like a switchblade. Gabriel wants something that comes with the risk of getting hurt. Something wild and savage. Dean is like that. Perfect. Dangerous.

Lucifer leans in, his voice soft, but teasing. "If you'd tried to get your hands on Sam Winchester, I would've challenged you to a duel. To the death. Or until you'd have let me him. Luckily _he_ is not for sale which suits me just fine. I want my men to come to me willingly. I'm quite big on consent as you know." There is a derisive tone to Lucifer's taunting.

"Feel free to invite the tall kid to your palace." Gabriel shrugs, indifferent to what Lucifer wants to do with the little brother. "He might say yes, although he's probably not going to accept your invitation if he is as clever as you believe him to be." Lucifer is an ass, but Gabriel loves him. As long as Lucifer is happy, Gabriel supports his older brother, except when it comes to staking a claim to Dean Winchester.

"Oh, he is. Clever." Lucifer smiles as if he knows something Gabriel doesn't.

Gabriel looks down into the Cage, at Dean Winchester. Even tired and bloody, he is one of the most handsome men Gabriel has ever seen. Gabriel tears his eyes away and looks at Lucifer instead. " Consent, yes. As much as we both want the annual fights to cease, anybody who steps into the Cage _knows_ what happens to the Second. As they say, 'second place is the first loser, and he shall have his reward'. It's not that I don't pity him, but Dean knew that too, don't pretend otherwise, Lucifer. He was willing enough when he accepted the terms of the challenge: 'The one who declares his defeat in the finale shall be sold for the benefit of the Champion of the Cage, thus the price of the Second shall be the prize of the First'. Perhaps Dean Winchester doesn't appreciate the rule now, but he didn't walk into the ring blindfolded."

"And you, my dear Tempest Lord, are going to help with the blindfold and the reward?" Lucifer smiles. "I find it peculiar that you are so enamored with this one lowly human. Humans are..." Lucifer wrinkles his nose.

Gabriel lets out a bitter laughter. It's an ongoing discussion between the two of them. Gabriel likes humans, although he doesn't understand them. Lucifer hates them, and yet he uses Gabriel's considerable fortune to save as many of the Seconds as he can, freeing them from a fate worse than... just about everything Gabriel can come up with, and if there's anything Gabriel has, it's imagination. "And Sam Winchester is what, again?" Gabriel asks.

"Mine, if he is interested," Lucifer says. "And human. I know he is. I swear I won't hold it against him."

Gabriel is surprised to see the look on his brother's face. It's uncharacteristically soft.

Lucifer smiles almost dreamily. "I suppose I need to learn to live with the less appealing human aspect? A shame that he isn't one of us, but in this case less will do. Especially when _less_ is as perfect as Sam Winchester, I will tolerate his humanity. It can be shaped. It does not mean I have patience enough for the rest of his brethren, however."

"High Lord, you are such an arrogant dick," Gabriel groans, scooting forward in the comfortable brocade chair, getting ready. They are about to begin, and Gabriel is not going to miss out on this. Not for the world. He's had his eyes on Dean Winchester since the moment he set foot in the fighting cage for the first time, a year ago today. Not since the Cage tournament began has Gabriel been this invested in a purchase.

*

Dean raises his head, looking at the spectators that surround the arena before tilting his head up to glare defiantly at the top boxes, at the distant Forever-Lords and their human entourage, those smart or ruthless enough to have fought their way to the top and to power. Some are former Cage-fighters. Some are all elbows and chainsaws and teeth and nails. Some are men and women that Dean admires, like Robert Singer, Lord of Hearts; he is a close friend of the High Lord and well-respected. Well-loved.

And it is Lord Robert — Lord Bobby — who is called upon each year to officiate. Maybe it is to let his kindness lessen the blow, Dean doesn't know. As the human Forever-Lord steps into the cage, the gates slamming hard behind him, Lord Bobby's eyes are compassionate. His hands are hard, however. Lord Bobby pulls out a torc, a piece of pure platinum, unbreakable and charmed. Once closed around a Second's neck, it unlocks only at the owner's command, or when the bearer's servitude is over. Dean is grateful that the Lord of Hearts shows no mercy, except for a brief look of pity and understanding. 

They don't speak. Dean doesn't beg. All he does is to stand tall, his torso bloody and bruised, as Lord Bobby places the torc around his neck and closes it. It makes a soft click and a sharp hum when the magic it's imbued with smooths out the metal: a perfect, unbreakable circle. It is loose enough, but Dean still feels as if he's choking.

Only then does Lord Bobby speak, his voice echoing in the huge dome. "Tonight's item: one servant, perfect in body and mind, minor bruises. Strong, handsome. The Kingdom and the Cage are selling Dean Winchester's one year of servitude. One year without any rights but to serve. The servant must be returned to the Cage at sunset, one year from this date, and without major injuries. A sum of three million dollars shall be granted to the servant or his family as compensation, in case major harm comes to him. Six million dollars if the servant is not returned alive." 

Dean's knees are threatening to give in. He is no longer Dean Winchester. He is 'servant', or whatever it suits his owner to name him. _Slave_. One year. Three-hundred and sixty-five days of slavery and humiliation. High Lord, he should never have set foot in the Cage! He fought for a better life; now everything is lost. Sam will still be poor and uneducated when the year is over. They will still be poor. Dean knows this was his last chance. He's too old for the Cage in a year. He has never been stronger than this day, and it wasn't enough. Next year it is too late.

Dean's eyes stray. Under the ceiling sits Alastair, Lord of Torment, Crowley, Lord of Blood. There is Abaddon, Lady of Pain. Why the High Lord keeps these people at his court, Dean has no idea, but he prays to whatever deities who might listen that none of these sadistic creatures decide that they want to purchase him.

The first bid falls. "Ten." A sigh goes through the audience. The starting bid is startling, removing most of the competition in one harsh blow. Someone is very determined.

"Ten million dollars from Alastair, Lord of Torment." Lord Robert points in the direction of one of the boxes. He can't hide his displeasure and contempt.

 _Lord Alastair_. Dean shudders, trying to appear calm. But who the hell is able to appear calm when the High Lord's chief torturer is trying to lay his disgusting and bloody hands on a defenseless servant? Rumor has it that Alastair's purchases, few as they may be, usually end up dead. They are trying to cover it up, but anyone with a brain has figured it out. Lord Alastair's servants have a tendency to disappear, both the ordinary ones and the Seconds. A three million dollar fine is nothing to a Forever-Lord. Having had an eternity to hoard money, most are rich beyond belief.

*

"You appear very calm, Gabriel." On Gabriel's left side, his youngest brother Castiel looks at him, almost disappointed. "I find this habit of selling the defeated very upsetting. While it might be entertaining for the people, it is barbaric and cruel. If only we could get rid of Alastair and his faction, our father would have discontinued the practice, but..." Castiel sighs, tired.

"Listen to our little Lord Castiel," Lucifer urges. "I find it unsettling, too, that Alastair should ever touch Dean Winchester's flawless skin with his torture implements."

"Alastair is usually your problem, not mine," Gabriel says, eyeing Castiel. His little brother is not Lord of Mercy for nothing. "Except I can't stand the sight of his ugly mug. I'm not the one spending my entire fortune, buying Seconds from under his nose. Not that I mind giving you and Lucy money when you need them, of course; you can have whatever you need. But today I am not letting Alastair or anybody else near my purchase."

"Your purchase? You do understand that is is an actual human being you are so intent on buying?" Castiel sends Gabriel an angry glare. "How can you be so callous? I know that you are not as interested in saving humans as we are, but I hadn't thought that you..." Castiel closes his eyes with a pained expression. "You are so careless, Gabriel."

Gabriel does feel a tiny bit bad. He is trying to save Dean Winchester, sort of. It's clear that Castiel doesn't approve, and Lucifer never approves of anything, the arrogant bastard. Gabriel decides that he shouldn't feel bad about buying Dean. It is his right to make a bid for any Second. He is trying to do good here, to save lives. Just because he is a little selfish, too, he can still do good. Good and selfish are not mutually exclusive if one looks at it with a certain amount of creativity.

"You are actually going to treat him as your personal slave?" Lucifer stares at Gabriel coldly. "I thought I taught you better. Consent, Gabriel. We talked about this. Humans, as unappealing as they are, they are not our playthings. Father doesn't approve. I am fairly sure that he won't like you keeping Dean as your pet."

Gabriel rolls his eyes. "You taught me nothing but tricks. I am, however, not your poodle, so do not attempt to tell me what to do with him. I like the idea of having Dean Winchester on his knees, waiting for my every command, yes. And he did consent to being sold when he signed the tournament contract. I am not an idiot, Lucy. I have one year, and—" Gabriel shuts his mouth. He wants Dean. _Dean_. Not a slave. Lucifer has got it wrong, but Gabriel hesitates to correct his brother. It makes him vulnerable to be open about who he likes and dislikes, and his fallouts with Lucifer are too frequent for Gabriel to hand out ammunition freely. It _is_ true that he doesn't want Dean as his servant, though. Well, he does, but not in the way that Alastair or Crowley or some of the other bidders might want him, either using him or abusing him. 

Oh, no, not like that at all. 

Gabriel does not wish to break Dean Winchester, nor does he want to control him. He wants Dean on the floor, all right. He wants him collared and obedient and tied up. He wants Dean on his knees, begging for attention and care and love, and one year is not enough. What Gabriel wants is _everything_. Dean's every moment, his every breath, his mind, his body, his first heartbeat and his last breath.

All of him. All of it. Gabriel sighs deeply. High Lord, he is such an idiot to want a man he doesn't even know. Gabriel wants Dean to want, and a year is too little time when Gabriel wants Dean to want an eternity. No matter what Lucifer thinks, Gabriel wants Dean to be _his_. He wants him to come willingly, to submit all he is, all he ever was, into Gabriel's hands, so that he might give it back to him. So that Gabriel can give himself to the proud, strong man he wants so badly.

It's stupid, but Gabriel knew that he was lost the first time Dean stepped into the Cage, all confidence and attitude. And for every fight, every little piece of the puzzle that was added to the fragmented picture of Dean Winchester, cage fighter _extraordinaire_ , Gabriel just got it worse. The way Dean fought, putting his life out there every time. The way he loved, the way he took care of his younger brother in between rounds, comforting him, reassuring him... it made Gabriel want some of that dedication. And after showing how loving he could be, Dean went back into the Cage, a wild animal, a predator, all beauty and strength, to fight like no one had ever fought in the ring before... Oh, to have that under him, to rein in that amazing brutality and turn it into desire and submission...

One hundred years of Cage fights, and this is the first time Gabriel is bidding on a Second for himself, bidding on a servant to serve him, bidding to _have_ instead of to save. High Lord, he needs to tread carefully. Because if he doesn't do this right, Dean will leave him on the last day of the year, never to look back, and all will be lost.

Lucifer has got a point: Gabriel doesn't know how to win a human's heart. He doesn't understand them — hearts _or_ humans. Gabriel doesn't even understand Lord Robert and Lady Ellen at times; they somehow elude him with all their bravery and their powerlessness — although anyone trying to call Lord Bobby powerless to his face won't live to regret it, Gabriel is sure.

The conundrum Dean Winchester? Fighter and brother. He's ruthless and cruel, soft and gentle, proud and weak. He is silence and storms, the calm summer and the wild fall. Gabriel wants that so badly, wants to examine the angles and the depth; he wants to tear Dean open like some of those mechanical human implements that are still left after the climate changes and the Croatoan virus took over the planet. Gabriel's fear is that if he tears Dean open to see what's inside, there will be nothing left that's whole. Yes, he needs to tread carefully because he needs Dean fully, wholly. All of him. Whole.

Must humans be so difficult?

Yeah, Gabriel certainly is lost.

*

"Fifty million dollars." Lord Bobby's one eyebrow goes up in surprise. The sum is unprecedented. Never has any servant been sold for an amount even close to this outrageous bid. "As you all know," Bobby says, smiling into the camera, "The Forever-Lords of America do not condone slavery, except for this time-honored, once-a-year-event. Going in, all the fighters agree that the winner's prize is paid for by the first loser, and Benny Lafitte is going to be a very rich man tonight. Fifty million dollars, viewers! From The Lady Anna!" Lord Bobby smiles. "The servant is indeed very handsome, and The Lady Anna has yet to find herself a husband or wife. Maybe this handsome servant is worth her attention and her fortune?"

Dean doesn't move. _Oh, please!_ Dean would gladly let Lady Anna have him if it was up to him. She is known to be kind, and she is beautiful too. Being her servant can't be that bad? Except being a servant is always bad, and no kindness can undo that. 

"Fifty-two!"

Lord Alastair again. Dean wants to puke.

Lord Bobby can't stop himself from smirking, and Dean thinks for a moment that Lord Bobby is amused that he's finally showing some kind of emotion. Not so. "Running out of money, Lord Alastair?"

"Fifty... Fifty-five!" Lord Alastair is leaning over the edge of the balcony. "And I am not amused by your comments, Lord Robert. I assume you would put in a bid yourself if you weren't dirt poor."

"Sixty million." In the box next to Lord Alastair's, Lady Ellen, Lord Bobby's wife, stands. "And every other bloody million you need, Bobby, to keep that lovely young man out of Alastair's grabby hands." She eyes Alastair. "Sit down, shut up, and find someone else to torment. Damn, you're disgusting, Alastair."

The entire dome erupts in cheers. Lady Ellen, with her down-to-earth ways, is immensely popular. Alastair, executioner and torturer, is not. Lady Ellen knows how to make a show for the people. The camera zooms in on Alastair's face, enlarged hundreds of times on the giant screen, and millions of times on the TVs across the globe. Lord Bobby's eyes meet Dean's. Lord Bobby nods, almost imperceptibly. 

"Lady Anna?" Bobby looks away and up. Dean doesn't need the screen to see her shake her head.

There's a commotion in one of the other boxes. "Seventy. And five million on top of any other bid that Lady Ellen and Lord Robert make."

The dome falls silent. Someone drops a bottle or a bag, and the sound echoes in the room, making its rounds until everything is silent.

Oh, fuck! The most unpredictable, the most malicious and annoying, the strangest and most unreliable of the Forever-Lords. And he is also one of the richest and most powerful. It's His Royal Highness Prince Gabriel, Lord of Tempests. Dean is fucked, because there is no way that anyone can come up with a sum that big, not that Dean knows for sure. All he knows is that The Lord Gabriel is rich beyond belief, and that he's said to be able to conjure gems and gold from the aftermaths of the storms whose master he is. Lord Gabriel is the tamer of the violent storms that occasionally ravages the planet. He is the golden sun and the raging thunder; he is the rain that drowns cities, and the wind that dries out the land, or so they are told when the media sings his praise. They might not be wrong. Lord Gabriel is said to suffer from mood-swings. He is said to be irresolute and fickle, not exactly traits that bode well in a slave-owner. Dean has to admit that Lord Gabriel is handsome, though. Arrogant, cruel and handsome. No wonder The High Lord Chuck chose The Lord Gabriel to be the ruler of the violent and unpredictable tempests that threaten the American nation: he is exactly like them.

Lord Bobby looks up at his wife. She nods and smiles. _It's okay,_ she seems to say. Maybe it's not that bad, then? Except it is. Because being sold to a Forever-Lord like Lord Gabriel can never be not-bad. It's just a different bad from the bad that goes with people such as Lord Alastair. Slightly less fatal, as far as Dean knows.

"Seventy million dollars. No one else?" Lord Bobby looks around, waiting. Hoping, perhaps. For a moment he turns away from the cameras, casually brushing against Dean as he moves. "Don't worry," is breathed into Dean's ear, no one hearing it except Dean himself. "Lord Gabriel is not a cruel master. You'll be safe with him."

If Dean ever gets the chance, he'll remember to thank Lord Bobby for his kindness. 

"Sold!" The word is drowned out by the audience going wild. Behind him, Dean can hear vague sound of Sam, crying, and Benny's "I'm sorry, Sam, I really am."

Dean's mind goes blank. He never thought he would be the one to stand here, a piece of meat for the nobility to feast on. He could fight, flee, but he wouldn't get far. He could cry and beg, to no avail. He has no power, no will. He no longer has anything of his own and it's the most scary thing Dean has ever experienced. His last breath belongs to The Lord Gabriel because Dean knows that the insignificant fine matters little to rulers such as he. Since Lord Gabriel paid seventy million for access to Dean's body for a year, three million dollars, or six, are nothing.

For the first time since Lord Robert announced Dean's status as a servant Dean turns and looks at Sam. Sam is still crying, a rage-filled, desperate sobbing. Clinging to Benny, Sam is shaking. Benny, too, has tears in his eyes. Dean nods, with the slight move of his head telling Benny that he knows that their roles could have been reversed. Benny was just stronger today. It's not Benny's fault that both the People and the Forever-Lords appreciate this kind of inhuman entertainment, nor is it the Forever-Lords' fault that Dean and Benny tried their luck in the Cage. 

Dean feels no hatred towards Benny. He can't even muster enough rage to hate the Forever-Lords. Benny and he...they both accepted the conditions of the tournament. "Take care of my brother," Dean mouths, knowing that Benny will honor Dean's request.

Benny nods. It's a promise. They are enemies in the Cage, but outside it they are soldiers, fighters, comrades. Dean would have done the same for Benny; he'd have taken care of Benny's young niece Elizabeth for him, taken care of his wife Andrea and their kids. They're opponents, yes, but they became friends somewhere along the road.

Dean is pulled back to the grim reality that awaits him. Lord Bobby tugs at the torc. "On your knees, servant, for your new master." Lord Bobby hooks a snap and chain into the torc. The silvery chain falls heavily down Dean's chest, rattling sharply. Dean hesitates a moment too long, and Lord Bobby yanks him down, knees slamming into the dirt. "Don't make it worse, Winchester," Lord Bobby growls into his ear. "You can fight him later, don't do it now. He'll punish you if you make him look bad in front of people. You won't like it. Now make a show of thanking me politely. Pretend that you're obedient."

Dean's anger flares. He's a _person_ , dammit! Only he's not and Lord Bobby is right. He is a servant, little more than a slave; in fact nothing but a slave. It will cost him one year of degradation before he is done kneeling for Lord Gabriel. Dean needs to play it safe, to find his footing; he can't rebel just yet. But Dean still has his pride, and Sammy doesn't need to see him humiliated in front of the cameras. Dean bites his lip, reining in his anger. "Thank you, My Lord." Dean nods, almost imperceptible. It's the best he can do without snapping. Dean breathes in, calming intakes of air; slow, relaxing exhales. He can do this, he can. When the cameras move away, Dean touches Lord Bobby's foot to get his attention. "I'm ready," he says so quietly that only Lord Bobby can hear. 

It takes everything Dean has not to look up when Lord Gabriel steps into the Cage, holding out his hand for the chain that Lord Robert holds.

The noise dies down. Dean knows what they are waiting for, the vultures. They want him to scream and beg, to throw himself at Lord Gabriel's feet, begging for mercy and freedom. Not gonna happen. Dean will not give them the satisfaction. He stays kneeling, looking at Lord Gabriel's feet. His boots are made of some kind of leather, decorated with an intricate pattern of flowers and leaves, silver and green and brown. They go all the way to his knees, which is where Dean decides to let his eyes rest. He can see the edge of Lord Gabriel's light summer tunic, dark green silk with a silver trim. The ensemble probably costs more than Dean has earned in his entire life. Concentrating on counting the threads in the trim, Dean isn't reacting immediately when Lord Gabriel demands his attention. 

"Get up!" Lord Gabriel's voice is cold and low. "Do not make me repeat myself." He yanks the chain once, twice, and Dean chokes, coughing. 

So much for good intentions. "I'm not your fucking dog, asshole," Dean sneers, loud enough for a billion viewers to hear. "Bite me." He braces himself for what must come; it can't be worse than taking a beating in the Cage.

He is wrong.

*

The Cage disappears and a wall of heat and wind slams into him. Dizzy, Dean stumbles as he is pulled up and thrown down again, this time on a hard stone floor. He groans, the pain is nothing, but the impact is brutal. "Teleportation?" he gasps, trying to find a way to make the world turn the right way. Dean assumes it's a really, really good idea not to look up. The little shit that bought him clearly doesn't like to be trifled with.

Lord Gabriel snaps his fingers and servants bring him a chair. He sits down, once more making Dean acquainted with the quality work of his boots. "It is up to you how hard we need to make this," Lord Gabriel says. "You are damned stupid, kiddo. You went into the Cage, knowing you could lose. You did. And you are going to lose spectacularly if you think you have the power to challenge me. I bought you, Dean. I. Own. You."

 _The fuck you do_ , Dean thinks. He wants to fight, but Lord Bobby's words echo in the back of his mind. He can't fight. He'll just make it worse. He already did. Instead, he does the clever thing. He waits. If he wants to survive this, he needs to know where he stands. Kneels, to be precise.

Maybe Lord Gabriel is a mind reader. "You are my servant. My property. I decide when you sleep. When you eat. When you breathe. _If_ you breathe. Although that'd defy the purpose of buying you in the first place."

The legs in front of Dean shift, one crossing the other, relaxed. "So this is how it goes: you will kiss my boots and apologize for your outburst and your rude attitude and I might grant you the pleasure of sleep and food. A bath, even."

Dean wants to tell Lord Gabriel where he can shove his boots, but he doesn't think his view will be much appreciated. On the other hand, Dean is not going to kiss any footwear, no matter the reward. "No." He glances at Lord Gabriel.

Lord Gabriel simply smirks. He throws Dean's chain on the floor and waves his hand. By some kind of otherworldly magic, the floor rearranges itself and swallows up the end of the chain, tying Dean securely to about a ton of black-and-white-checkered marble. "Make sure he gets water if he's thirsty, and take care of his injuries. Nothing else. You may not speak to him." Lord Gabriel gets up from the chair. "Nobody is allowed in here but you," Lord Gabriel tells the servant, a young boy in a pristine white tunic. "Fetch me when he changes his mind."

It takes six days and some hours before Dean smells the coffee. Not literally, because all he's had since Lord Gabriel chained him to the floor is water and a six feet wide territory. Dean is hungry. He is bored. He smells and so does the floor, because his humiliation is not limited to being left without food: it has a distinct lack of plumbing as well. Also, he has no trouble figuring out that he'll be here until he either dies from starvation or gives in. Well, maybe His Royal Pain in the Ass Lord Gabriel isn't letting him die; after all the Lord of Tempests has paid a fortune for him. And Lord Robert sort of vouched for the jerk, so he might not be an utter douchewad. Dean reserves his opinion until he's either fed or dead. Unfortunately Dean's in good shape. He has heard that hunger strikers are able to survive six weeks or more without food. Maybe he needs to get used to being obedient and pliant; it probably won't be the only time he has to swallow is his damned pride.

It comes up to pride versus food. Pride versus hot water. Pride versus a bed, or at least blankets instead of the cold floor.

Pride is precious, but right now the taste of it doesn't beat the taste of a good meal.

*

Gabriel walks through the airy halls of the Sky Palace, a few of his favorite hounds following him. Perching high on a cliff, the harsh winds cool down the castle, making the hot summer months bearable. He stops for a while, elbows on the edge of the balcony. The palace yard is at its most beautiful. Outside the walls the desert stretches as far as the eye can see, dune upon dune of cream-colored sand, a shimmering sea of dust and heat and rocks. But inside them, protected by white marble and black granite, the palace gardens are blooming. The air smells of sun-warm peaches, and of the roses that Gabriel likes so much. The fountains sprinkle, birds flocking around them to bathe or drink. It's late, the hour before sundown, and the twilight is slowly descending, chasing away the burning heat. But the palace is a peaceful place, and Gabriel stops himself from wondering how it will be to walk between the trees and the flowers with his beautiful new servant, feeding him fresh dates and ripe grapes by hand.

Heaven, Gabriel wishes that he hadn't been so cruel as to punish Dean so severely. Gabriel knows he should have listened to Lucifer. He simply lost his good intentions in favor of mindlessly lusting after Dean Winchester. Not exactly his finest hour. But how in the deepest hell was he supposed to get Dean's consent to come with him when the kid is nothing but aggression and loathing and resistance? Gabriel knows that his impatience made Dean reject him. How is he supposed to penetrate that wall of rejection now, if not by punishment? It has been a week, and Dean is still feisty and angry and arrogant. Gabriel's experience with humans is sorely lacking, and he sort of begins to regrets that he hasn't spent more time with people instead of with his annoying big brother and his sop of a kid bro.

Gabriel stands there, lost in thought, so deep that he doesn't hear Samandriel at first. 

"My Lord, he is willing."

Gabriel turns. "Come again?"

"Your servant. He is willing to submit to your wishes. But there are conditions."

Gabriel's laughter echoes across the courtyard and makes a few maids strolling along the balcony on the other side look at him funny. One of the hounds huffs and stares at him with the same curiosity. "Of course there are. I'd be disappointed if there weren't."

Good, so Dean isn't broken. Gabriel knew he would be strong and stubborn. From the first time Gabriel saw him in the Cage, he knew Dean would be worth it. Anyone able to rock Gabriel's world by their mere presence had to be worth it.

"Prepare a bath and a very light meal. Make my bed ready. Then get your ass back to Dean."

Samandriel looks at Gabriel with wide eyes. "My Lord?"

"He needs _sleep_. Rest. I am not going to rape him. Really, Samandriel?" 

"Not that you've done much to make anyone think that you're actually going to treat him right, either, _My Lord_ ," Samandriel snipes, his young face contracted in displeasure. "You really don't do empathy well. Lucifer says—"

"That is _Lord_ Lucifer to you, and I know what he says: 'Gabriel does not do humans well. He needs to be careful if he wants Dean Winchester to stay with him.'"

Samandriel looks very tired. " _Lord_ Lucifer says you're a bumbling, obsessed moron who is going to lose what you got if you don't treat him right."

"If I were to treat you right, I'd have you whipped and thrown into the oubliette for a week for your insolence. So just be happy I am crap at doing right." Gabriel swats at Samandriel. "And _do_ try to remember that you're my page boy, not my mother. Not that I can't wait to get rid of you, but your knighthood is a few years ahead, still."

"Apologies, My Lord." Samandriel manages to sound polite for a moment, before he adds a snappy, "And I'm your squire. Not your page. Not that you ever cared to distinguish because all I am to you is your errand boy. I don't think that's what my family intended when they sent me here." He rolls his eyes before he bows slightly and disappears in a flash.

 _He'll make a decent Lord of Light after his father when he's grown into his powers_ , Gabriel thinks, trying not to smile at the utter disrespect little Samandriel shows him. Can't take long, the way _Squire_ Samandriel's confidence is progressing.

*

Dean doesn't care to sit upright. He's not sure he's able. He's shaking, and his clothes are so disgusting and sweat-stiff that moving is unbearable, having the soiled remains of his cut-off jeans move against his skin. His hip and shoulders and knees are sore, and he's pretty sure that the stone floor has gnawed its way through fabric and skin right at his left hipbone. He hasn't cared to look.

"Get me some wine," Lord Gabriel demands, holding his hand out for a goblet. A pair of long-legged sighthounds drop down on the rug-covered floor next to Lord Gabriel's throne-like chair. One stares at Dean, the nose vibrating slightly. Samandriel hurries to do as he's told. "Have you prepared?" Lord Gabriel asks his squire.

"Yes, Lord." 

"Tell my servant what you have done." He nods in Dean's direction. "Tell him what awaits him if he chooses to submit to me."

"Yes, My Lord. I have made your bed with the softest down mattresses, and with silk sheets and enough pillows to satisfy even the High Lady's demands. I have sent for a meal, chicken broth and freshly baked bread. Apples from the garden of Sodom. Grapes from Eden, wine from Jerusalem, and water from the springs of Iceland. Nothing that might cause your servant distaste or discomfort."

Dean thinks it sounds like heaven, but he still glares angrily at Lord Gabriel. It's all the fight he has left, but as long as he can, he will make sure that Lord Gabriel knows that he is not coming willingly to his hand.

Gabriel nods. "My perfect Squire Samandriel. And the bath?"

"Hot water with bath salts. Rose-scented as you prefer it, My Lord. A shower is ready too. Maids await your servant so that they can tend to his needs."

"Send them away. I will bathe Dean myself. I do not want anyone else to touch my boy." Gabriel stares at Dean, so obviously possessive that it makes Dean startle. "He is _mine_. Alastair shall never lay hands on what is mine, nor shall anyone else, not without Dean's consent."

Dean doesn't understand. He is merely a pawn in some distorted game between Lord Gabriel and the Lord of Torment? It's not as if Dean preferred to be purchased by Lord Alastair, but it's surprising how into it Lord Gabriel is. Dean knows little about politics, but a lot about fights. And Lord Gabriel and Lord Alastair are definitely fighting. Not a surprise since they are top dogs of each their faction. Maybe he just happens to be the bone they are fighting over? Dean tries to clear his mind, but hunger and lack of sleep make it difficult. Maybe it's just that The Lord Gabriel likes torturing people too? He sure had no quibbles, starving Dean into giving in in exchange for food, a bath, a bed. They are temptations, alluring little promises of luxury and comfort. Comfort for the small price of Dean's pride, that is. And for the use of his body, at least that's what it sounds like, what with all Gabriel's possessive posturing. 

If Dean accepts—when he accepts, because what Lord Gabriel offers sounds somewhat better than to die of starvation— he is going to be Lord Gabriel's bed toy?

Falling in bed with Lord Gabriel is better than falling into Lord Alastair cruel hands, Dean has no doubt. On the plus side, Lord Gabriel is handsome, even if he's an asshole. Dean had happily hit that at any other time, except that Lord Gabriel is not just Gabriel, a cute guy Dean met at a bar. He is the Royal Highness Prince Gabriel of America, and Lord of Tempests. Dean is but a lowly commoner with no connections, which is why he entered the Cage in the first place. It's the only way to win money and status in a world that leaves few chances for people such as he. The Cage was nothing but Dean wanting Sam to have the life he deserves. Also the Cage is the only reason Dean has come into spitting distance of any Forever-Lord, so there would have been no hitting on Gabriel in any bars. Ever. Not that it was Dean's intention to get in close proximity of anything but the prize money. Unfortunately he didn't win anything but a holiday chained to a soiled floor, complete with a nobleman dickhead to go with it. All Dean has managed is to make life so much worse for both himself and for Sam.

A slight cough from Gabriel interrupts Dean's jumbled thoughts. Dean jolts—he's in trouble enough as it is and it'll probably be a really good idea to pretend to be a little respectful. He hates it, but he'll try.

"My Lord." It takes effort for Dean to say anything, to get out two small words.

"If it's not too much for you to direct your attention to me, of course." Lord Gabriel says, sarcasm dripping. "You asked Samandriel to send for me. Now, _nobody_ sends for me, except for my father, the High Lord. I am willing, however, to overlook it once, because I understand that you have complied. You are willing to accept your punishment and your destiny?"

"Yes. Yes... My Lord." Dean's voice is rough and unused, and he'd kill for a sip of the cinnamon-spiced wine that Lord Gabriel drinks. 

"Let's make it very clear what you are accepting, then," Lord Gabriel says, leaning forward, looking down at Dean with an expression of disgust on his face. "The sooner we can get you cleaned up, the better. You stink."

"I'm willing to repeat myself: I am not your bloody dog," Dean manages to growl with little conviction. Gabriel's dogs probably have it better. "And _you_ chained me here. It's your fault I smell."

Lord Gabriel looks tired. "Dean, you sold yourself. I did not force your hand. I saved you from Alastair. I do not expect any gratitude for it, because nobody forced _me_ to do that. Let me be honest with you; it might make you understand that I did not purchase you to be cruel: I've had my eyes on you from the moment you set foot in the Cage, and I bought you because I want you. I would have bought you no matter who bid on you, and no matter the costs."

Dean's head snaps up? "What?" Dean is nothing, he's a commoner, all he knows is to fight and to hunt. Why the hell would someone like Lord Gabriel look his way? He asks. "Why?"

"Don't be mistaken. I like what I see, and I would like you to agree to come to my bed, not today, but in time, when you are ready. I do not, however, tolerate disobedience. I do not tolerate defiance. I assume you have figured that out by now. If nothing else, then because you're chained to the floor."

Dean frowns, his mouth hanging open. Lord Gabriel can't be serious? "Why?" he repeats, trying to understand what this is about. Sex, clearly. Want. Desire. Control. "But if you want me, then why don't you let me go so we—"

"No. And even if I did, you'd still wear the torc. To the public eye you would be nothing but a servant, a serf. Property. You'd get hurt without my protection. You'd be fair game to anyone. And trust me, there are _anyones_ enough out there who'd like to get their filthy hands on you."

Dean laughs. The laughter feels bitter and raw in his throat. It's true. He'll wear the torc until it opens by itself, a year from now, freeing him from slavery. He fucking hate that necklace already, with the power of a thousand suns. _I bet you could take the torc off of me if you tried_ , Dean thinks. Of course Lord Gabriel can. He owns Dean, so the torc will respond to his orders. "With or without that damned collar, I can fend for myself," Dean argues, not that he thinks that it'll help. Lord Gabriel spent a fortune on him so it's highly unlikely that Lord Gabriel lets him leave.

"You might be right there, Deano. I could remove the torc, but you'd still be outside the law. If I let you go, anyone can pick you up and claim you. You'd end up being thrown in jail for beating someone up for taking what would be their right according to the laws of the Cage." Lord Gabriel's eyes soften. "Look, you are one of the best Cage fighters in the world. Of course you can fend for yourself. Problem for you—and for me—is that it would cost you your life. You should take what little freedom I can offer you. Even if it means that you wear the torc. It is a sign of your loss of personhood, true, but right now it is your protection, too, because most people respect the torc. I can remove it if you insist, but it'd cause you problems. Big ones. Not as big as Alastair, but you'd be biting over more than you can chew. I'm the lesser evil."

Rumor has it that the Forever-Lords can read thoughts. Dean supposes that Lord Gabriel's reply confirms it. Great. Dean knows, though, that Lord Gabriel is right. He'd die before the year is over. Sam could take ownership, but that'd be too much to ask, demanding a year of Sam's life for his protection alone. They'd still be up against the Forever-Lords, because Lord Alastair didn't bid on him for the fun of it, and he'd be on their case the moment he found out that Gabriel let him out of his sight.

"Humans don't read minds," Dean says, "and I'd appreciate it if you stayed out of mine. What is it you want with me? You're not human." 

"No, I'm not." Gabriel sighs. "What I am is rich, powerful and eager to get on with this. I am, however, not a rapist, and I am not going to force you into my bedchamber. I will give you a way out, Dean, but not your freedom. I can't. It'd kill you, so you must stay here, in my palace, that's non-negotiable. You can choose to be with me, or not."

"Get on with it, then," Dean snaps. "I don't have all year. All I have is three-hundred and fifty-eight days, to be precise."

Gabriel laughs and Dean sincerely would like very much to stab him in his handsome face.

"Good thing that you still have a sense of humor. I don't like people who bore me," Gabriel says, smiling.

"Then get on with it," Dean demands again, trying to sit without falling over. Shit, he is so exhausted that he can barely stay conscious. "The other suggestion?"

"If you refuse me, I will send you to my master of hounds. You can help him cleaning the kennels, taking care of the pups and bitches. It's not going to be glamorous, but you'll be protected until the torc opens and you have your freedom back. I am being generous, Dean, but don't be mistaken, I am not a humanitarian. If you choose to come to me, to my bed, I want your submission, no holding back. You will be taken care of, pampered. I promise that you will receive the best care anyone can ask for. You will never want for anything."

"Except my freedom." Dean tries to make sense of it. Dogs or submission. He looks at the dogs. They are elegant, aristocratic creatures. He's willing to bet that they aren't submitting to anyone. "You mean... _submission_ , submission? Not just being polite and respectful and crap?" It's not that Dean hasn't played that kind of games before, but this is not a game. This is not a bit of fun in the bed, neat safeword in place, complete with the right to get up and leave if he wants. Or maybe it is that kind of game, except he still can't leave.

"Except for your freedom. I am not unreasonable, you'll come to see that. As I said, I am not a rapist. If you choose me, I will always give you a way out of—you might say that I want to let you earn your place in my bed with your compliance."

"And if I don't comply? If I'm _disobedient_ ?" Dean spits out the word with contempt. "Then I'm back to sleeping in my own piss? Because frankly that doesn't feel very much like hot sex to me." Dean motions towards his soiled clothes.

"Maybe that's because chaining you to the floor was chastisement, Dean, for your rude behavior. The games I want to play with you are not going to include that kind of punishment." Gabriel purses his mouth. "Well, they are, but only the kind you'll like. Consensual punishment. The kind I like to give, and the kind you'll learn to crave."

"Don't be too sure, dude." Okay, so Dean can endure a spanking, if that's what Lord Gabriel wants. Not that he's going to enjoy it much, but that's all right. "Don't be too sure."

"I am sure. I will drive you to your limits, and at times across them, but never without letting you have a say in it."

"Oh, how generous of you. Treat the dogs, or be treated like one? Great opportunities here. I can hardly contain my joy, I'm that happy. Sounds totally awesome."

"If you want a third option you could pay me back my seventy million. That'd do too. Except you'd still be snatched up by the charming Alastair the moment he realizes that I let you go. Freed, you'd be imprisoned in your own home, and your brother with you. If you got that far. My guess is that you'd be on Alastair's rack before the day is over, and dead before Christmas. Sweetheart, you're out of choices. I did not make the rules, and neither did you, so let's make our own and play a game that's so much more interesting than bleeding out under Alastair's whip."

"Oh, I'd love to play by our rules. The ones that allow you to tie me up and leave me without food. Dude, that is so not on!"

Lord Gabriel sighs, but he actually looks a little guilty. "I promise not to do that again, not unless you're committing a crime that truly calls for severe punishment. I made a mistake."

"You're so generous it makes me all warm and fuzzy. So no dungeons or whipping at the pole or torture or shit like that? Unless I try to murder you in your sleep? Wouldn't rule that out, by the way. And what did you mean, earn my place in your bed?" For the first time since his dehumanization Dean feels as if he is in control of his life, at least a little. Lord Gabriel is annoying, but he's neither stupid, nor entirely unreasonable.

"You could always start by calling me by my title and by showing me some respect. You truly are in need of decent manners, and I will look forward to teaching you."

Dean is about to protest and tell Lord Gabriel that he can fuck off because he's going to take the dogs anytime when Lord Gabriel holds up his hand to stop the outburst.

"Quiet. I want you to obey me. If I ask something of you that you are sure that you won't come to enjoy, you may refuse, but it will not be without consequences. If you want to sleep in a bed, you will do your best to please me. If you don't please me, or if you refuse to do something that I ask of you, you will sleep on the floor. It's as simple as that. I am not going to torture you again."

So submission and the use of his body, luxury in exchange for kinky sex with a hot nobleman? Dean is torn. He doesn't want to give in, because that's not how he is. Problem is that Lord Gabriel's arguments make sense. Dean will be safer here, in the palace. At least Lord Gabriel has the courtesy to ask for Dean's consent. He is sure Lord Alastair wouldn't have bothered. Yeah, he'd probably be screaming his lungs out in Alastair's dungeon by now. There really isn't any comparison between the rape and the abuse and torture that the Lord of Torment would have exposed him to, and the rather pleasurable games that Lord Gabriel suggests. Not that Dean is in doubt that he _will_ feel uncomfortable when Lord Gabriel ties him up or spanks him or whatever it is he wants. It's not that Dean has that much experience with power play, but he has enough to know what he's accepting. He used to enjoy that kind of games and Lord Gabriel sounds as if he knows how to play them.

Being offered sex doesn't make Dean less of an slave, but it sweetens the deal. The power to refuse Lord Gabriel makes it acceptable. 

"And Sam?" Dean asks. He needs to know. He stepped into the Cage for Sam. If he can land a deal that benefits Sam... yeah, then he'll do it. Benny has sworn that he'll look after him, but one can never have enough allies, especially not since the Winchester family is now on the windy side of Lord Alastair's wrath if what Lord Gabriel says is true.

"Sam?" Lord Gabriel stares at Dean as if he had asked if the sun rises in the morning and sets in the evening. "What has Sam got to do with it?"

No, Lord Gabriel isn't a humanitarian. But he has brothers, too, so how is it that he doesn't understand Dean's request? "I want you to take care of Sam. I want him set up with a grant so that he can go to law school. I want him safe. Benny promised, and I trust him. I still want a plan B."

"You are aware that you are in no position to negotiate? Why would I pay for your brother's education?"

"Because it'd make me happy and make me choose you over the hounds," Dean says in a cocky tone that does not reflect the angry defiance that makes his stomach churn. Or maybe it's just bile. "As I see it, you'd want to make me happy and compliant because it'll get you laid. Do we have a deal?" If it is true that Gabriel is attracted to him, desire at first sight, then Dean really does have something to bargain with. Otherwise he's fucked in the not-so-pleasant way.

Crossing his arms as he leans back in the chair, Lord Gabriel looks contemplative. "You are too clever for your own good." Lord Gabriel's eyes shine with a sharp, cold cruelty. "Let's get this over, then. First you will crawl to me and kiss my boots like you should have done when I demanded of you in the first place. Take your punishment and I swear it's the last time I treat you without concern for your dignity." 

Dean is choking on the urge to rebel, to get up and punch Lord Gabriel in his smug face. Only he can't, because he's still fucking tied to the floor.

"Oh, _fuck_ you!" 

"I'm sure we'll get to that." Lord Gabriel smirks. "And when we do, I'll make sure it'll be good. So, what will it be, Dean? Contrary to you, I _do_ have all year."

Dean takes a deep breath and studies his owner's face for some time without saying anything. There is mischief and malice there; judging from Lord Gabriel's many public appearances that is simply how he looks. There is a strange gentleness, too. It is not enough to make Dean trust Lord Gabriel, very far from, but it's enough to at least give him a chance, despite everything that has happened between them. It can't be worse than Lord Alastair's rack.

It doesn't make it more pleasant to crawl for the man, though. Dean sneers at the mere idea.

"Separate the two," Lord Gabriel says quietly. "One part is the punishment for you rudeness, for the spectacle you made at the Cage. You have to admit that you behaved improperly. Anyone would have been punished for such inappropriate behavior. I take no pleasure in seeing you punished for it. The other part... that is the pleasure I will find in your submission. Not the same. You forced my hand. I cannot tolerate disrespect, not from you, not from anyone. The other kind of punishment... that is our agreement, our pleasure. Pay your due debts, and it will be the last time you will suffer indignity, except if and when you have agreed to it." 

All right then. Dean's pride won't break entirely because of a kiss. The reward makes it worth it: Sam will be safe. Dean takes another deep breath—a grave mistake, he really stinks—and crawls on sore knees as far as the chain allows him. He can barely reach Lord Gabriel's feet from where he stops, and he has to lie down entirely as to make the most use of what little slack it gives the chain. He wants to get it over with. Quickly he kisses Lord Gabriel's boots, both, to be certain his owner is satisfied.

Lord Gabriel makes an approving sound. "I forgive you, Dean."

Yeah, sure. Dean mouth contracts in a wry, displeased grimace. He wants to spit on the floor, to wipe his lips to get the sensation of expensive leather and sand off his lips. But he can't. The negotiations have cost him everything he had left. He can barely manage to raise his head as Gabriel points at the floor and the chain comes free of whatever magic that held it there.

Lord Gabriel can call it what he likes, sweeten the deal as much as he likes. But _nothing_ truly sweetens being sold. Dean has lost.

Again. 

Now time only shows if he actually managed to win something for all his efforts.

"Samandriel!" Lord Gabriel clearly has little patience left. "Help Dean up. Get him a small glass of grape juice, not too much. Take him to the baths and help him undress. Get a stool for him, so that he doesn't have to stand. Prepare, make sure there is enough soap and bath salts, and I'll take over. Serve the food at the pool, then leave us."

*

The warm water pours over his body, removing the smell of piss and the cakes of sweat and shit. It's like heaven after a week of frozen nights and burning hot days. The water pressure is pleasant, hard enough to loosen Dean's tense muscles, soft enough not to hurt his sore skin. Dean is leaning against the wall, exhausted. He's counting the tiles to stay awake. They are blue and yellow. Spanish or Arabic, Dean thinks. Old. Very old. They are exquisite, like everything else he has seen in Lord Gabriel's palace.

Exhausted and half-asleep, Dean has nothing to do but to study the surroundings, indifferent and curious at the same time.The bathroom is unlike any bathroom that Dean has ever used. _Bathroom_ might not even be the right word for it. It's so old that it has to be built before the sand and the tempests ruined most of the planet. It's no bathroom, it's a _bath_ , like the baths in ancient Turkish palaces, in sultans' castles. Hamams. The bath has pools, deep hot-water pools. There are shallow baths too, and the showers are visions of art, water falling from the ceiling with no visible tubes, just a waterfall of light and clear, sweet-scented water. 

Right outside the shower, Samandriel is preparing a mix of pleasant-smelling herbs. Dean can sense lavender, aloe and chamomile through the minty taste of toothpaste that he used to scrub his teeth and mouth with. Twice. The scent is calming and he is almost asleep when Samandriel turns to greet their lord with a bow. 

"It's ready, My Lord," Samandriel says and steps aside to let Lord Gabriel into the shower cubicle. 

The shower is bigger than Dean's old room, the one that was both living room, kitchen and bedroom. Much bigger. Lord Gabriel and his entire entourage of pages, maids and servants can fit in here with Dean, if needed. Dean laughs giddily at the thought. God, he's losing it; he's that exhausted. 

Lord Gabriel is naked apart from a towel, slung loosely around his hips. He pulls it off and hands it to Samandriel. "Leave us," Lord Gabriel orders without looking at his squire. "Stay outside. I might need you later."

Samandriel disappears as Lord Gabriel steps closer, the summer-smelling concoction in hand. "Not everyone gets to be served by a lord," Lord Gabriel says. Judging from the smirk on his face, he finds it amusing. "Enjoy it while you can."

"You have talent; you'll make an excellent maid," Dean groans as Lord Gabriel starts cleaning him. With a soft cloth and the soap that Samandriel made, Lord Gabriel cleans every inch of Dean's body. Dean's too tired to protest. "Ever considered changing jobs?" he jokes, yawning as Lord Gabriel's soft hands slide over his back, spreading the lavender soap over his skin with gentle, kneading movements. Dean can't stop himself from letting out a content sigh. His battle-worn body, sore from his final fight and from the stay on the hard stone floor, almost melts as Gabriel continues to loosen up knots, making dirt and tension slide off Dean, finally making him feel relaxed and clean. 

"Can you stand?" Lord Gabriel asks when he's done. "I can carry you, but I don't think you'd want to be my damsel in distress, not tonight."

Damned right Lord Gabriel is. Dean will walk if it's the last thing he does. 

It's a miracle that he stays upright as Lord Gabriel dresses him in a soft robe.

"No reason to dry you off. The bath is ready for us. Food too."

Gabriel leads him between pillars and palms towards a huge pool. Samandriel has left a tray with fruits and bread, wine and water on the side. There is a beautiful ceramic bowl filled with a delicious-smelling broth. Smells like chicken and mushrooms. Dean can't remember the last time he tasted mushrooms; they are far too rare to have that often. It's not Dean's favorite kind of food, but he knows that he cannot stomach anything heavier than broth and bread. Not yet. 

The pool is steaming hot and Dean moans in pleasure as Lord Gabriel helps him down the stairs, into the water. There are steps to sit on, and Dean sinks into the water, enjoying the weightlessness that takes most of the strain off his sore limbs. With a silk pillow under his head, Dean leans back against the edge. 

Lord Gabriel pours a goblet full of cold, clear water. "Let me help you, Dean," Lord Gabriel says, and Dean knows it's not up for debate. He's okay with it. If it rocks Lord Gabriel's boat, Dean is okay with it. He is too tired to get truly angry over being treated like a child. At least it's better than being chained like a dog.

Lord Gabriel offers him the goblet, and Dean empties it, enjoying every mouthful of the water. It tastes remarkably good.

"From the mountains of Iceland," Lord Gabriel says. "I never touch anything else. Wine, obviously, but that's different."

"Easy for you. I mean, you don't have to worry about travel expenses," Dean says. "Us, normal people, we don't have a choice. It's either recycled water or cleaned saltwater." 

"And now my property wants me to apologize for my lifestyle? The lifestyle, mind, from which said property is going to benefit," Lord Gabriel growls, clearly not in a bad mood. He reaches for the tray. "I suppose you are going to complain about the organic, corn-fed chicken, too?"

"Bite me," Dean says and reaches for the delicious piece of meat that Gabriel holds between his fingers. "Or better, gimme!"

"Ah-ah," Lord Gabriel chides. "You eat when I say you eat. Eating too fast will only make you sick."

The glare Dean sends Lord Gabriel is less than friendly. He debates with himself for a little whether it is worth it, fighting Lord Gabriel right now. He doesn't have the strength. As it is, he'll never have the strength. No ordinary human can stand weaponless against a Forever-Lord and live. Dean lets out an annoyed sigh and sinks back into the hot water.

Lord Gabriel looks down at him, one eyebrow raised. 

"Er," Dean starts, unsure of what to do. "Please, may I have food?"

"Good boy." Gabriel offers him the chicken and Dean is too hungry to consider exactly how degrading it feels to beg for something to eat. Gabriel takes another piece. He gets the bowl while Dean chews, offering him a spoonful of the broth when he has swallowed the chicken. 

The soup is hot and delicious and unlike anything Dean has ever tasted. His stomach growls and churns, as if it can't decide whether Dean should eat or vomit. 

"Slowly," Gabriel says, his voice soft and oddly comforting. "I shouldn't have left you without food. It was cruel. I won't do it again."

Dean shrugs. He should be angry; in fact he is, he just can't be bothered to care right now. He's too tired and Lord Gabriel's words contain the apology he needs. "You saved me from Alastair. It's okay." Dean can be generous.

Lord Gabriel's mouth becomes a tense line. "It's not okay, and I would _never_ let Alastair have you. The man is a sadist, and not in the fun way. There are times when I don't understand why my father keeps him at court. Politics, of course. We'd have Alastair and his entourage of psycho assholes at our throats if he tried to kick them out without good reason. War. So we can't do that, not yet. Unfortunately, a few murders isn't enough to imprison him, not when Alastair paid off the families and witnesses. Don't think we haven't tried." Lord Gabriel actually looks worried. "Alastair would have killed you within a couple of months, you know. If you were lucky. You'd not have wanted to be alive for that long, I suppose. Alastair seemed particularly eager to get you and I am sure he wouldn't have offered you a place in his bed."

Closing his eyes, Dean feels sick. He's not in doubt that Lord Gabriel is right. "And now my current owner expects me to thank him for buying me?" Dean opens his eyes. "Not gonna happen." Lord Gabriel bought access to his body, not to his gratitude.

Lord Gabriel's laughter is as clear and warm as the water. "No, I don't expect you to be grateful. I expect you to be obedient. Pliant. Eat." 

A fat, juicy grape is pressed against Dean's lips and he takes it, relishing the ripe sweetness as he chews and swallows. All right, so he's fed and kept, and he can be Lord Gabriel's plaything, because that is all he is now, a thing. Lord Gabriel's thing. 

Taking a deep breath, fighting nausea and exhaustion, Dean spreads his legs. He knows what Lord Gabriel wants, and it's not that bad. It might even be good. At least Dean is left with a choice. He can say no, but he's not going to. He agreed to be Gabriel's fuck toy. "Let's get to it, then," Dean says, closing his eyes. If Lord Gabriel wants to fuck him in the ass, better do it now before he falls asleep. Dean is sure that his master won't appreciate it if he dozes off during the act.

Lord Gabriel doesn't move. "Dean?"

Dean opens one eye. "What? If you want any you have to get it yourself; I don't think I'm—"

" _Dean_!" Lord Gabriel splashes a handful of water at him.

Lord Gabriel is glaring at him when Dean opens his eyes. "Yeah, I know. The floor. Haven't earned a place in your bed. Sorry, don't care."

Gabriel reaches for Dean's face and grabs his jaw, forcing him to look up. "Don't. I am not taking advantage of an exhausted, unwilling man."

"Yeah, you're awesome. Should have thought of that when you bought me and decided to introduce me to slavery by treating me like dirt."

Lord Gabriel looks very, very tired. "What I should have thought of is how much trouble you would be, Winchester. Now shut up and get up so that I can dry you off and drop you in my bed." He holds up a finger, as if to prevent Dean from speaking. "To sleep, Dean. Sleep."

Lord Gabriel turns out to be a man of his word which both surprises Dean and doesn't. 

"Up," Lord Gabriel demands, holding out his hand for Dean to take. Dean isn't too proud to take it. He really is exhausted, and the promise of a night in a soft bed holds an incredible allure after a week on a cold stone floor. He is manhandled into a fluffy robe that feels as light as feathers. Dean doesn't protest when Lord Gabriel helps him walk from the baths down a corridor that seems to stretch infinitely into the depths of the castle. 

*

The bedroom is gigantic. Heavy curtains keep out the chill night and the hot morning sun. The walls are lined with tapestries, and there is almost no spot on the marble floor that isn't covered with thick rugs. "If I have to sleep on the floor, at least I'm going to lie comfortably," Dean says as he is led across a deep Persian rug to the huge bed. A white canopy crowns the mahogany bed; soft, transparent fabrics create a nice cave underneath it. 

"My Lord?"

Somehow Samandriel has followed them discreetly. Dean jerks at the sound of his voice.

Gabriel shakes his head. "Light the candles, then leave us. I won't need you until breakfast. Serve us at nine." He looks at Dean for a few seconds. "No. Ten. Leave fruit and water for Dean at the table if he gets hungry later."

Samandriel opens the bed's curtains and lights the candles next to it. There is a low fire burning in the fireplace. The flames flicker in the slight breeze that is allowed through the closed curtains. Dean is relieved when Gabriel pushes him towards the bed. He can't wait to lie down and sleep.

Pulling back the comforter, Gabriel points at the bed. "Get in. We'll talk about your duties tomorrow. I'll let you know what I expect from you then. Tonight you rest."

It's not a problem. Dean slides into the bed, sinking into a heaven of bouncing mattresses and warm down comforters. The linen is silken-soft — a luxury entirely foreign to Dean who is used to the coarse cheap cotton which is all he can afford. He groans in pleasure as Lord Gabriel covers him up. Damn, it feels great. Dean sort of wishes that he'd had the energy to fight back, just a little, but right that instant he surrenders. He might consider getting on his resistance later, when he's gauged the extent of the consequences of disobedience. Maybe he can manipulate the rules and Lord Gabriel, too. Then again, probably not. Lord Gabriel is frigging annoying and definitely a little crazy, but he is very, very far from stupid.

Dean's situation is exactly as Lord Gabriel has described it. He is fucked no matter what he does or what he chooses. Being fucked by a Forever-Lord might be the best way to get fucked over, and that literally. Dean can be a bed-toy if he needs to be. Still preferable to being tortured by an insane murderer.

The bed dips as Lord Gabriel lies down next to him. It is his bed after all and Dean doesn't even care to open his eyes. A gust of wind rushes through the bedroom and the light disappears, candles blown out. One of the perks of being the master of storms. Dean sighs again and buries himself deeper into the pillows. High Lord, he's so tired. 

He barely registers that Gabriel slips his arm around his waist before he falls asleep.


	2. Drive My Dead Thoughts Over the Universe

Dean groans and turns in his bed, squinting at the light. Damned Sam, forgetting the shutters again. Dean's gonna kill him if the wind and the sand have ruined any of their sparse food. The sun is scorching hot; at least it isn't the rainy season, they'd been drowning by now in that case. "Fuck you, Sammy," Dean growls sleepily, turning over on the narrow pallet they share for the lack of money for yet another, trying not to fall out.

But the pallet goes on and on and Sam has turned remarkably short overnight. And intimate. "What the—" Dean sits up so fast that he has to lie back down, blood rushing to his head. "Crap." He stares up into unfamiliar ceiling, one made up of organza and silk. Next to him lies Lord Gabriel of the House Shurley, one of the nation's most powerful men. Also, The Lord Gabriel is naked and looking up at Dean with a content, smug grin. How the fuck did that happen? It takes Dean's brain a second to catch up. Then Dean suddenly is very awake. He is also dizzy and a little nauseous. Nervous.

Lord Gabriel sits up, a soothing hand on Dean's back. "Let Samandriel get you some mango lassi. You'll feel better. We need to get you used to eating again." Lord Gabriel snaps his fingers as if that action is enough to summon Samandriel and whatever it is that Lord Gabriel wants Dean to eat.

Yeah, sure, he'll feel better. He'd be used to eating if he'd actually had food to eat. Dean stares at Lord Gabriel. He'll feel better if this lassi-thing cures being sold to the highest bidder, chained like a dog, starved, and finally talked into becoming the most expensive sex toy in the Northern Hemisphere. Dean's brain is still trying to catch up with the events while Samandriel quietly places two glasses of something icky and milky at the bedside table. 

"That looks like something Sam would like," Dean says, lacking anything appropriate to say about the appalling fluid that Samandriel serves them. "What is it?"

"Yogurt, water, mango, honey and a little salt. It'll be easy on your stomach. It's what you body craves."

The lassi sounds as awful as it looks. "What's wrong with beer and burgers? I'm sure my body craves that more."

"I promise," Lord Gabriel insists. "Come, sit." Lord Gabriel is gentle, but persistent.

It's an order and Dean obeys. He can just as well get used to it. Compared to being ripped apart by Lord Alastair, being fed breakfast by a persistent Forever-Lord is vastly preferable. Dean sits up, pushing a pile of pillows up against the headboard behind him. Lord Gabriel puts the glass in front of him. There's a straw.

"Drink." Gabriel does not sound as if he wants to be contradicted again. 

All right. Dean can get the unappetizing mess down if he has to. If he's quick he doesn't have to taste it. He takes the straw and swallows as much as he can, expecting the lassi-thing to be vile. Dean wrinkles his nose. _Oh_. He licks his lips. Leaning forward he takes a smaller drink from the glass, this time really tasting it. "It's... It's _good_."

"Told you, kiddo. You need to learn to trust me."

There is that. Okay, so Lord Gabriel isn't out to poison him or slip him some drugs. Maybe. "Don't I get a decent breakfast? It feels as if I haven't eaten for a week. I wonder why."

Lord Gabriel sits back, one hand possessively on Dean's thigh. "The servants are preparing it. I usually eat something more substantial than this." Lord Gabriel drinks some more of his lassi. "Bacon, pancakes, eggs, strawberries."

"Strawberries?" Dean's eyes widen. He has read about them, seen them, but never tasted one. "Really?"

Lord Gabriel puts his glass down. He sends Dean a smoldering look. "Later I'm going to feed them to you by hand, and you'll be a good boy and eat them." He leans in, shifting so that he can pull Dean closer. Lord Gabriel's hands are very strong. Hesitantly Dean follows, letting Lord Gabriel pull him flush against his body. Gabriel brushes his lips over Dean's, licking at Dean's lower lip. "I think I'll smear strawberry juice all over your mouth, lick it off. You have a beautiful mouth."

Lord Gabriel's breath tastes of mango. Dean is not ready, though, for any kisses. He kissed Lord Gabriel's boots, and that has to be it. He is still angry about that. He'll be angry about it a year from now. Lord Gabriel senses his reluctance, because he withdraws a little before he buries his face at Dean's neck, pressing wet kisses along it. Dean can't stop himself from sighing when Lord Gabriel manages to find that spot, right underneath the ear. Lord Gabriel is a good at what he does. 

"Mmm," Lord Gabriel moans. "I'd like to order you to lie down for me. I'd like to use the entire day exploring every inch of you, but unfortunately I have work to do, and we have things to discuss before we go any further." Lord Gabriel pulls away, a full inch. "Unless you have regrets and would rather go to the hounds. I think Lucifer's speech about consent might have rubbed off on me." Lord Gabriel slides a finger along the torc, reminding Dean of his place. Heaven, Dean loathes that frigging thing. Yeah, Dean has to remember his place. And it's either with the hounds or in Lord Gabriel's bed. 

"No," Dean says, imagining himself for a few seconds down in the kennels. He's not too fond of dogs, but he sort of likes the long-legged hunters that Gabriel keeps. Dean seriously doubts that the bed he'll get there is half as comfortable as the one he's in now. He doesn't care to share with the dogs. He was always a sucker for a good bed. Also, he has no idea what Gabriel is talking about or what the Lord of Ice has to do with anything. But he sure isn't going to the dogs. "I really don't want to be your kennel hand."

"Good." Gabriel waves Samandriel over. "Help Dean get dressed."

"I can—"

"Quiet. You'll let the servants dress you and bathe you at my command. You are no longer a commoner."

"No, I'm _nothing_ ," Dean snaps. "You saw to that. Why should they dress me? I'm not a child." Dean is annoyed. He doesn't want anyone to help him. He has always taken care of people around him, and this is... too strange. Uncomfortable. He pulls at the torc, sneering at the touch. "I'm your slave. The lowest."

"You are _mine_ ," Lord Gabriel insists. "Hence it will reflect badly on me if I won't let the servants do what they are here to do. Your defiance is unacceptable. Also, it will earn you a night on the floor if you insist." Lord Gabriel touches Dean's hand, a gentle caress. "No matter where you sleep, you will never be _the lowest_ as you so eloquently put it. To me you will never be anything but something valuable, something cherished."

"You can't threaten me to do anything I won't do. You swore."

"Yes. You're right. I did." Lord Gabriel ignores Dean in favor of getting up. Samandriel offers him a bowl of water, waiting as Lord Gabriel washes his face and hands. Lord Gabriel turns around, one knee on the bed. "Please, Dean. Let my servants help you this once, and I will discuss the terms of your stay with you at breakfast."

"My stay?" Dean shakes his head. Lord Gabriel is smooth-tongued in more ways than one. A diplomat as well. "Wow, never thought I'd hear legalized slavery described that way. My stay... Hm."

"You are not gonna take this lying down, are you?" Lord Gabriel grabs the robe that Samandriel holds out for him. It's heavy and golden, the exact color of Lord Gabriel's eyes. 

The guy's an asswipe, but damn if he doesn't look gorgeous. Dean allows himself to push his annoyance back in favor of the arousing sight of Lord Gabriel, his naked body halfway covered by silk so expensive that it'll probably cover what a large family needs for food for a month. _So what if he's a jerk_ , Dean tells himself. He has never been one to refuse the company of a good looking guy, or put down offers of good sex. It may be risky, agreeing to be Lord Gabriel's toy, but it's still better than the dogs. Seeing the way Lord Gabriel's muscles slide underneath his skin, taut and strong, it's going to be much, much better.

"Nope. What would be the fun of that?" Dean smirks. He's on thin ice. He knows the way this works outside, flirting, banter, with real people. Only he's no longer a person and it changes things. 

"Let's find out. Dress." One of Lord Gabriel's servants waits patiently at Dean's side. The robe he is offered is almost as elaborate and costly as Gabriel's. Dean gives in. The silk is dark green and soft as forest shade as it whispers against his skin. Dean knows how it feels; he has been to the forest once, when their dad took them on a hunting trip to Alaska. Dean has never worn anything like it, all cool and warm and light at the same time. He huffs at it as it embraces him. There are different kinds of cages, different kinds of prisons. There's the Cage, the pain, the fighting. Defeat. And then there is this one: gilded and pleasant and luxurious. It's still a cage, padded with pleasure so that Dean doesn't try to use wings he doesn't have. There is a cruel world outside this cage now, one that might cost him his life if he manages to break open the door.

He can't do that, not to Sam, not to himself.

He touches the torc, the symbol of his servitude, sneering in contempt, before he follows Lord Gabriel to the adjourning lounge where invisible servants have set the table with bone china and silverware. 

Lord Gabriel was right. Breakfast _is_ substantial, although Dean holds back, careful not to make himself sick from eating more than his empty stomach can hold. It is also the best meal Dean has ever had. He gets the notion that a lot of the things he's going to get or have or experience in Lord Gabriel's Sky Palace is going to be the best. Except for the lack of rights and freedom. Carefully Dean eats slowly, small bites, a small portion. He sips his coffee just as carefully. Finally Dean puts down his cup. "I wish that I could blame you for it."

"For?"

"This." Dean makes a noncommittal wave, indicating not so much the surroundings but the situation he's in. 

"My palace? Well, if you'd rather live in poorer circumstances, I'm sure that can be arranged. Only I didn't think you liked dogs that much."

"I don't mind dogs. And I meant... slavery. That I lost to Benny. That I agreed to the rules of the Cage." He turns the white, almost transparent cup in his hands. "I didn't think I'd lose. Benny... I'm stronger than he is, just—" The defeat weighs heavily now. "How could I be so stupid as to agree to be sold if I lost?" It's bitter, this admittance, and it makes Dean angry again. "What is it that you want with me? Why? I'm just an outlet for your perverted fantasies, or what?"

"I don't like your tone, Dean." Lord Gabriel's eyes turn cold. It's the same coldness Dean has seen in old TV documentaries about now-extinct animals: tigers, lions, predators. The same calculating stare just before a kill. 

"I'm supposed to suck it up and submit, is that it?" Dean bares his teeth in a smile that is not meant to be calming or disarming.

"This is becoming circular. You get angry at me because I bought you to save you from Alastair. You realize that I had nothing to do with the fact that you were purchasable in the first place, and then you get angry again because I bought you. If we need to use a year on that argument, it's going to be a very, very boring year. Also, you'll get firmly acquainted with the floor next to my bed, so I suggest that you reconsider exactly how much effort you wish to use on making me angry and yourself annoyed."

"Why did you buy me? Don't give me that crap about me being hot and you being a humanitarian." Dean leans forward, his hands balled up in fists, one on each side of the fragile cup. The cup cracks with a hollow, weak sound and the remains of the coffee make a brown stain on the white tablecloth. 

"I'd appreciate it if you do not attempt to ruin my things," Lord Gabriel says and snaps his fingers. The cup is whole again. 

The reminder of what the Forever-Lords are is like a bucket of cold water thrown at him. Dean needs to progress with caution. "I mean it, My Lord. Why?"

"Heaven, you are persistent." Lord Gabriel surely isn't angry, but he isn't exactly happy about being interrogated, either. "All right. First and foremost to save you. Not only that, but as I told you, it is no secret that Lord Alastair is less than careful with his human toys. No matter who had lost, Dean or Benny, we'd have bought him. Anyway, if Alastair's faction hadn't been so powerful, my father would have discontinued this practice of buying and selling, or tightened the rules in favor of the Seconds a long time ago. As it is, it is far too easy for Alastair to use his power to dispose of the poor victims he abuses. He merely needs to dole out enough cash, and no one can make _him_ pay for what he does. No witnesses, at least no willing ones. In my humble opinion he should pay for his sins in blood. We've managed to save a few, Castiel, Lucifer and I. My father stepped in a few times, in the early days, before Bobby and Ellen joined us. Lucifer and I provide the funds if the others don't have enough."

Dean is about to ask why Lord Gabriel didn't let Lady Ellen buy him, in that case, but Lord Gabriel cuts him off. It doesn't make sense that Lord Gabriel raised the bids the way he did if the only thing that mattered was to keep Alastair from buying.

"I'm not done. With you it was a different matter. I like you, kiddo, I like your style. Even if Alastair hadn't tried, I'd have paid whatever amount necessary to get you. You're strong and handsome, and maybe I did imagine the games I could play with you." Lord Gabriel smiles, softer this time. "If I could get you to agree to play, that is. I never intended to force you." Lord Gabriel's looks a little ashamed, a notion that doesn't make sense in connection with the arrogant little dick. Dean's impression of Lord Gabriel is basically that he's shameless. "As I told you earlier, I desired you from the moment you set foot in the Cage."

"Why?" Dean asks again. "What is it that is so interesting about me?"

Lord Gabriel sits back in his chair, quiet for a while. "You know what I do? You know why I am the Lord of Tempest?"

"Yeah... I suppose. I mean, I watch the news. You fight hurricanes. Redirect storms. Master the weather. We'd have been buried in sand if it hadn't been for you and Lord Lucifer."

"Media taught you well. Any of my older brothers could do what I do, but I suppose we'd be too busy if we hadn't split the tasks between us. What they forget to tell is how much it costs us to keep Earth in an equilibrium. Too many errors, and the climate will be irreversibly ruined, the globe doomed."

"Not that I don't appreciate it," Dean says. "But what does your work have do with it? What does that have to do with me?"

"Maybe I wanted someone at home, someone who has the same intensity, the same strength and power as the storms. One who'd be mine, willing. Pliant. Someone who'd give me pleasure instead of defiance. Someone who'd help me recover when I return, someone to give me pleasure instead of rebellion. Not a foolish oaf, but a strong, proud man who would lend me his strength, help me regain mine. I believe I could get no one stronger than you, nobody more worthy to lean on."

Trying to wrap his mind around the concept, Dean wonders exactly how hard it is for the Forever-Lords to salvage what humans ruined, how much they hide the toll their efforts take. It looks so easy for them, a race of superior beings descending to Earth to offer their aid to a doomed humanity. "I didn't know," Dean says. "Nobody ever told us. The history books say you came here from another dimension to help the people revolt against our useless governments. You came here to help us against the storms and the floods, your power vastly exceeding the inadequate help we received from those who attempted to rule us before you. You were heroes, saviors. You are the _Enay Cocasb Iaod Zil Tule_ , the _Lords of Time from the Beginning of Earth, Stretching Until its End_. Or something. Nobody told us you were—" _Human_ is not the right word. "Vulnerable." Dean sits there for a while, turning in his hand the cup that Gabriel repaired. "Couldn't you just get a girlfriend. A wife? They say that you and The Lady Kali—"

"Yeah, and she lacks something I like. Apart from being immensely bossy and not the least inclined to play my kind of games, she lacks what you have, Deano: a dick."

Dean laughs. "There's that. Personally I like both, pussy and dick, so dick's fine with me. Or I'd have taken the hounds over you, if I thought it'd be a problem. Let me rephrase: couldn't you just get a boyfriend, then?"

"If we assume I'd met one I'd care to let into my bedroom for more than a night, then yes, I could. You were the easy way out. Or in."

"Oh, yeah. Didn't have to fear rejection or anything since I had no say in it. Didn't take you for a coward."

"If we imagine I had more time to indulge, I assure you that I wouldn't waste it on letting you offend me again. You had plenty of say in it when you decided to fight in the Cage. You _knew_ what happens to the Second: the same thing that has happened to the Seconds since we came to Earth. Do I need to remind you that it was at your own human government's request that we turned the Cage into a game of buying and selling? A chance for humans getting a chance at winning rank and riches, to prove their worth? It wasn't the Forever-Lords who were the greedy ones. But that wasn't in your history books, either, was it?" Gabriel's eyes turn predator-cold again. "Now, do you want to talk about our agreement or not? If I am to do this on a trial-and-error basis, I am not sure it's going to be as pleasant for you as it could be." 

They were right, those who say that Gabriel is like quicksilver. He is changing all the time, unpredictable like the tempests. It is clear, though, that Gabriel does not have unlimited patience, Dean can sense the it in the way he moves, increasingly jittery, as if he's waiting to go on, start something new, or continue with something he'd rather do. "All right," Dean admits, "I wanna talk. Get it over with. Let's not live this girly moment much longer." Dean realizes, almost before the words have left his mouth, that he needs to know where he stands. Or lies, rather. In the bed he made, he knows that, but he wants to know the extent of his servitude. How much—or how little—freedom he's allowed. Despite the girl talk. For once, he'll suffer it. 

Gabriel nods. "Let's be brief, then. I want you to be ready to please me when I'm home. I want someone who cares about me and my pleasure. And I want to provide a setting for this... you might say formalized game... one that is safe and satisfying for you as well. I will take little pleasure in it if you don't feel pleased as well. I want to help you learn to enjoy what I do to you." 

"What makes you think that I want to agree to that? If you want a meek little boy who sucks up to you, I am so not in."

"What makes you think that I want a meek boy who acts on false feelings?"

Dean frowns. He doesn't understand. He has no say in it; Lord Gabriel can just state what he wants and Dean will have to obey. "I— I don't—"

"Obviously not. Dean, there would be nothing pleasing in having someone submit to me because _I_ want it. If it isn't mutual, then the game loses its intensity. Where is the beauty of submission if it's not given after a fight?"

"You said you didn't want me to fight you."

"I did. And I don't. I want you to fight _you_. I want to see you discover the beauty in submission, in the room I'll provide for you, one made up of pleasure and praise, and occasionally of pain and punishment. Punishment you need, punishment you receive willingly because it pleases me. It is not violence or suppression I want to inflict on you, but I want to see you fight against yourself. I also want you to feel safe. I want you to learn to trust me. _That_ is true submission, because you will submit to me, despite your power and strength. You might say that you will hand it over to me for a while, that impressive strength, to have and to play with, until you agree to take it back."

"Trust you? You say that all the time. How am I supposed to trust you when all you've done is buy me, beat me, and—"

"I did not beat you!" Gabriel is up from the chair, his robe whipping around him as a violent gust slams through the room, making the table rattle. "I made a mistake, and I will not do so again." He leans over the table, angry. "I swore that I would never abuse you in this. Have I not sworn that I will always give you a choice, a way out? At least believe in that. I do _not_ lie, Dean. Not to you."

"Whoa there!" Dean moves his chair back a foot. Lord Gabriel might be small, but his rage isn't. "Okay, I know. Or... I think I know. I mean, you've not really proved that I can trust you." It's not entirely true. Gabriel has been nothing but considerate since he released Dean from the naked room he'd been in. "Could we... could we get on with it, please? What is it you want with me? I know in general terms, I understand what it is. Dominance. My submission. But I'd like to—" Dean pauses. Yeah, he'd like that. "Could we— before I decide?"

"You want to try? Let me have you like I want to have you?" Gabriel's anger disappears as quickly as it came. "Are you sure?"

No, Dean isn't _sure_. But he will be here for three-hundred and fifty-some days, and Lord Gabriel isn't that bad. Dean can't really say yes or no before he knows precisely what it is that he's refusing. 

Suddenly the light is on. 

He can refuse. 

He can say no. He can make Lord Gabriel stop if there is anything that displeases him. Dean has power over Lord Gabriel, too, the power to deny him what he wants. Dean decides to be honest. "No. I'm not sure. You promised me to—" _Be nice_ might not be the right expression. Dean can't stop himself from grinning at the thought. "— to accept it if there is something I want or don't want. And right now I want to try. I want to find out how soon I reach that don't want-limit. I might yet decide in favor of the dogs."

"All right. Yes." Gabriel nods. "And I want you to at least clue me in first. If there are things you definitely don't want me to do to you. I want to push you, but I want it to be good."

A way out. Limits. Dean likes that. He thinks back to the few times he's played, what he liked and what he didn't. "I don't want you to use whips or anything. I— no. Nothing like that. It is too painful." Dean could go with a few slaps, or a mild spanking, he wouldn't mind that, but it doesn't do much for him. "No blood." Dean has had blood and beatings enough in the Cage; to him, neither belongs in the bedroom. "And if you ever try chaining me to the floor again, I am going to the dogs, and you can go fuck yourself." Only far too late Dean remembers who he's talking to. "You can go fuck yourself, _My Lord_ ," he says, a lopsided grin accompanying the abundantly disrespectful addition.

Lord Gabriel is hiding a smile. It's in his eyes, like a sudden sunbeam through rain clouds, soon gone. "Thank you, Dean. And I want you to... I do not want any misunderstandings. If you don't like the way we play, you mention the hounds. I assure you it will kill the mood immediately."

"Yeah, I bet it will." Dean likes Lord Gabriel's suggestion even better now. He has been given a handbrake, another one. "And when you're not... If we're not... then what?" Dean asks. "Am I expected to be at your disposal at all hours? Should I act like your submissive at all times? I won't like that very much."

"If I'm not here, or if I haven't requested... demanded that you join me, you are free to do what you like. I would prefer if you stay inside the palace. You probably shouldn't go further away than the nearest town. I'll tell my guard that you must have an escort if you go outside. We are both aware of the circumstances of your stay, and so is Alastair. You are defenseless, despite your fighting abilities, if he decides to go for you. Later, when Alastair has cooled down a bit, I'll let you go to the capital if you like. You can go see Sam if you want. I'll get you a sandcar. The capital is still two days away across the desert, even by the fastest car. For now, stay here, until Alastair has cooled down. Write to Sam, call him. I'm not your jailer."

"Really? You'll let me do that?" So Lord Gabriel puts his money where his mouth is. Sort of. All seventy million dollars. Trust goes both ways, and Dean is surprised that Lord Gabriel trusts him. Dean could flee, easily, as soon as he gets that car.

"But you won't." Lord Gabriel smirks. "And I want you to be here when I want you to be here. Don't test my patience."

"I'm not a mind-reader, am I? How would I know when you want me?" Dean rolls his eyes. "And stay out of my mind. It's... uncanny."

"To answer your last question: yes. I'll let you do that. _I_ trust you. You're a righteous man, an honorable man, kiddo. That's what everybody says about you, that you're trustworthy."

Dean is surprised. Lord Gabriel has spoken to his friends? Or maybe he's simply been spying on them? Anyway, Lord Gabriel has been checking up on him. Dean is known to be a man of his word and if that gives him a bit of leeway in this fucked-up situation, he's not complaining. With the added freedom to come and go as he pleases as long as he's careful, staying with Lord Gabriel definitely sounds better than staying with the hounds. Dean decides to play. He leans back in the chair and gives Lord Gabriel a once-over, making sure to appreciate every appreciation-worthy aspect of Lord Gabriel's handsome features and muscular body. "So, those strawberries you told me about? Am I going to taste those any time soon?"

*

A bowl of small red fruits is placed on the desk. Dean knows what they are, he's seen pictures of them on the net. They are tipped with chocolate, something else that Dean recognizes immediately; he's tasted chocolate before, dark and bitter and strangely fulfilling, as if his taste buds decided to have an orgasm all by themselves. It has been years, though. Chocolate, like strawberries, is rare and expensive, they are luxuries that neither Dean, nor Sam have been able to afford, except during the few Christmases when Dean had saved for months to buy a small piece for them to share.

Dean stops right inside the heavy doors, blinded by sunlight. The windows have real glass in them instead of heavy iron shutters, matte at places from the sand beating at them. The room smells dry and papery, old, in a pleasant way. "Books," Dean says, in awe, reaching out to touch one of them. Everything in Lord Gabriel's palace is rare or old or both. "I've... I read. I mean, of course I do." Yeah, he does. He has a Reader, everybody has; they are free. The Forever-Lords aren't fond of illiteracy. "They smell."

"Books do that," Gabriel says. "Maybe I'll allow you a reward when we are done. If you go through our session without disobeying me. I'll let you read one, hold it. Enjoy the scent." Lord Gabriel grabs a pillow from one of the couches in the middle of the huge room. He puts it down next to the chair at the desk. Gabriel sits down. "If you are still willing?" He winks. "I have strawberries. He pokes at the bowl. "Plums. Grapes." He takes one and pops it into his mouth. "Mmm, ripe."

Dean takes a step forward. Suddenly he is overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. He both hates Gabriel and likes him. He both wants to agree to play with Gabriel and not. He both refuses to see the inevitability of being who he is now, and not. He both wants to be on his knees for pleasure and not. Dean feels an overwhelming urge to turn on his heel and go downstairs. To the dogs. To be free of Lord Gabriel. He wants to beg to be released, no matter the consequences.

It's humiliating because he knows he is going to accept in the end, and he doesn't want it to be so easy. Gabriel is leading him into temptation. He's like a puppy who has smelled a particularly juicy bone. Yeah, it's humiliating. Because Lord Gabriel and Lord Gabriel's palace are symbols of what Dean fought to have. Instead he lost and lost himself. It doesn't really matter that he still is getting everything he wanted for Sam, if only by proxy, by Lord Gabriel's and Benny's promises to him.

Oh, it's humiliating.

"It isn't."

Gabriel is in his mind again, and Dean sneers at him. "I told you, man. Get the fuck out."

"All right, I promise not to spy on you. Now hear me out. You are handing me your power and your will. You give it to me willingly, isn't that so?" Gabriel holds out a hand, palm upturned. "That can never be humiliating. Come to me, Dean. Please. Let me show you the pleasure you give me. Let me show you how I will adore you, admire you for what you give me. Come to me because you want to, not because I'm a step up from the dogs."

The floor — wood, dark and polished and rare — presents a vast abyss. It is merely fifteen feet or so, but it could just as well have been the ocean, a deep, rocky valley, a walk across burning coals.

Dean lets his mind slide into a search for peace and quiet. He lets his mind wander behind a fence of closed eyes, letting it find a calm that he rarely feels. He didn't even think he could, always forced to fight and work and hunt to get by. But Lord Gabriel is here; despite everything that has happened, Lord Gabriel has made sure that Dean is safe and cared for. It is strange and scary, too, to have this small room in time and space to simply fall into his own thoughts, having the luxury to look at them, think them through. The storm that rages inside Dean, violently whirling, fades. His breathing slows, calm intakes of air, slow exhales into the room of books and sunshine. 

Dean can't resist it. Finally he opens his eyes, only to find Gabriel staring at him, flushed.

"You're beautiful," Gabriel says, his voice low and hoarse. "High Lord, I didn't think it would be so beautiful."

Dean doesn't understand. He has just been standing there, lost in silence and storms. He decides that he likes the quiet, so he doesn't say anything. He merely moves a foot, one step to begin with, then another, across oceans and abysses and valleys. Across the fire.

Gabriel moves a large pillow with one leather-clad foot, pushes it closer to the desk. "Kneel here." There are no more _pleases_ or explanations, just two words, one command. 

Dean can do that, as long as he doesn't have to kiss any boots. He's not sure where to look. Maybe it's just difficult to look at Lord Gabriel, as if it disturbs Dean's peace and quiet to look into the quicksilver eyes. Slowly Dean gets on the floor, refusing to groan as his sore body is forced to bend and turn. He finds a position that is comfortable and sighs softly as his body complies, finds rest. He closes his eyes and concentrates on his breathing, expecting nothing, fearing nothing. The small room he has created for himself is calm. There are no demands, no expectations. All he has to do is to wait for Lord Gabriel to decide what _he_ wants to do. What he wants Dean to do. 

A gentle hand slides through Dean's hair. The touch makes him jerk. He's not sure how long he's been sitting here.

"Beautiful," Gabriel says, as if that's the only word he has for Dean. "Look at me."

Dean looks up, finding nothing but a pleased smile for him. 

"I want you to try these," Gabriel says, holding up the small silver bowl that Dean noticed earlier. Dean is about to move his hand when Gabriel senses it. "No." He puts a hand on Dean's cheek. It's warm and soft. "I want you to put your hands behind your back."

"How am I—" Dean is pulled out of his calm.

"Shh. I will see to your needs. You don't have to worry. Hands behind your back, Dean. Breathe slowly."

Dean doesn't want to. It makes him feel vulnerable. Defenseless. How anyone can find pleasure in this idiocy is beyond him. When he tried something like it, there had been boobs and his tie was ruined after, and the girl had been riding him into next week. And she had turned him over and fingered him long enough for him to come, and they had laughed and moaned together. Being on his knees for Gabriel is different. 

Serious. Very serious.

"Dean!" Gabriel's voice is a whiplash. 

Dean jerks and before he can think he has his hands behind his back, eyes averted. "My Lord," he whispers, the pain of the one harsh word enough to make him curl into himself. He doesn't like it. It feels like punishment.

"Shh," Gabriel whispers again. "Look at me, Dean."

Dean looks up, torn between getting up and looking up. He takes a deep breath and falls into the silent calm once more.

"Very good. I am extremely pleased with you. I would like you to taste a strawberry. These are particularly good; sweet and delicious." Gabriel takes a piece of fruit, and it's only then Dean sees how cleverly Lord Gabriel has diverted his attention, luring him back into the quiet room where he feels safe and comfortable. 

The strawberry smells good. Lord Gabriel holds the chocolate-covered berry between two fingers, brushing it across Dean's mouth. "Your mouth... " Gabriel makes a hoarse sound. "I would like to see it red with juices." Gabriel presses a bit harder and a trickle of strawberry juice and little shards of chocolate are left on Dean's lips. "Lick it off, baby. Slowly. Look at me and lick your lips," Gabriel demands.

Unless Dean wants to have his robe ruined by juice, he has to. If that's what Lord Gabriel wants, he can do that, easily. He lets his tongue slide over his lips, almost suggestively. He stops, interrupted by the foreign taste of strawberries. Sweet. Oh, so sweet. The full, round taste of bitter chocolate makes it better. Heavens, it's good. Dean moans. He looks Lord Gabriel in the eye and moans, because it is as sweet as the strawberries to see the heat rise in Lord Gabriel's eyes. It's the best thing he's ever tasted, and Lord Gabriel's expression is merely the icing on top of a very sweet strawberry cake.

Dean licks his lips again, leaving them spit-slick and berry-red. "May I have another one, My Lord? To eat. Please?" 

The fire in Lord Gabriel's eyes doesn't die. "You may." Gabriel offers him the strawberry and Dean takes it carefully, without touching Lord Gabriel's fingers. He chews, the taste explodes, all sugar and dark, dark chocolate. Dean closes his eyes to savor every drop, every little piece of it. When he opens his eyes again, Gabriel's fingers are in front of him, juice-smeared. "Clean them," Lord Gabriel orders.

All right, then. Dean has sucked cock before, and he had no complaints. Fingers he can do too. If Lord Gabriel wants to play, they play. With a deliberately shy glance at his master, Dean licks at Lord Gabriel's fingertips, little soft, trying licks, before kisses the fingertips, one by one. Dean sucks one finger into his mouth, snaking his tongue around it before he sucks, groans and let it go. He pauses, pretend reluctant, before the next finger gets the same treatment. 

This time Lord Gabriel moans softly. 

_Good_.

Two fingers this time, Dean's lips tight around them as his tongue licks every trace of strawberries off of them. 

"Fuck," Lord Gabriel groans, his breathing faster. "Yes."

 _Better_.

Dean moans too, to tease, and because he wants to. 

"Enough! Sit still, and don't speak. I have work to do." Gabriel pulls his hand away. "I will punish you if you disturb me," he adds, heated and cold at the same time.

Oh, yeah. Dean has gotten to him, and it feels so good. "I did my best," he whispers, playing with fire now, "My best. I'm sorry you didn't—"

"Silent!" Gabriel turns and from the sounds from above, pretends to be busy shuffling files and Readers around on the desk.

 _Best_. 

He has bested Lord Gabriel, rattled him. 

Dean hides a smirk by bending his head in what he hopes is a properly submissive pose.

*

There's a clock on the wall. When the small hand passes three, going on four, Dean knows that he's being punished for his cockiness. He is sore and he has a cramp in his right leg. He's bored. Once in a while, Gabriel offers him a grape or a strawberry, careful not to let Dean touch his fingers. Sometimes it's a drink of that icy Icelandic water. Dean is not hungry. He's not complaining; being fed rare fruits and delicacies isn't too bad. Except he'd do anything to get up, move, act. Hell, he'd suck Lord Gabriel's dick if it could get him out of here.

Dean tries to relax, to ignore his leg and the boredom. The clock tick-tocks away on the wall, measuring out time until his release. Dean breathes in, holds his breath, breathes out, feeling calmer, lighter. He thinks about how Lord Gabriel's fingers felt in his mouth, on his tongue. He thinks about how Lord Gabriel moaned, how he managed to give Lord Gabriel pleasure just by licking his fingers. He thinks about the praise, the warm, slightly aroused tone that surrounded the word, wrapped around it gently, like Dean's lips around Lord Gabriel's fingers. He thinks about how good it felt every time Lord Gabriel told him he was beautiful. 

The sigh he makes this time is content and longing. Then Dean remembers that he has misbehaved and he really doesn't want to sleep on the floor tonight. He has pleased Lord Gabriel, but Lord Gabriel wasn't happy with him when he pretended to know what he was doing, when he was trying to take the upper hand instead of Lord Gabriel's. Dean has to admit he liked it better before Lord Gabriel decided to punish him with utter boredom. He liked touching Lord Gabriel. Dean sinks into the small, delightful memory of strawberries and moans. Maybe he gets hard at some point, but it doesn't really matter. Warm tongue. Slender fingers. Pleasure.

"Dean?"

Pulled out of his safe little cocoon, Dean's head snap up. "My Lord?"

"I am pleased with you."

The room comes back into view, just like Lord Gabriel's handsome face. "Yes, My Lord." Dean feels like he is waking up, wanting to stretch and yawn and maybe, just maybe it'd feel so good if someone touched him. "Why?"

"You found a place to stay." Again Lord Gabriel strokes Dean's hair, fingers messing with it, pulling it gently, forcing Dean to look up. "A space that is yours alone."

Dean doesn't know what Lord Gabriel means. Yeah, he sort of fell into it, being suspended between reality and this odd place of peace and quiet. It feels like he has spent the day in the eye of a storm, the world revolving without him for once, leaving him alone—not that he was allowed to do anything about the world anyway. "I feel like an idiot. I mean... all I do is to sit here and eat from your hand like one of your hounds."

Lord Gabriel's hand tightens in Dean's hair. "Look at me."

Dean does. Lord Gabriel isn't angry. There is an expression on his face, one that Dean can't read. 

"You please me with your patience, and my pleasure should please you."

"Yeah, I get that, but all I do is kneel and eat strawberries." Dean grins. "And lick your fingers suggestively. I haven't really done anything." It seems all right that they talk now. Lord Gabriel would have told him if he preferred that he kept quiet, of if he should be more respectful. "I mean, I haven't done anything to please you. Like... you know. Suck you dick or something."

"You don't understand yet." Lord Gabriel swirls on the chair, away from the desk. He spreads his legs, one on each side of Dean's shoulders. " _This_ is what it does to me, what your submission does to me," Lord Gabriel says and smooths his thin robe, stretching the fabric across his crotch. There is a small wet spot on it. Underneath it, Gabriel's dick stands hard, firm, making a very nice hill under the silk.

"Oh."

"Do you see now? That you are able to give me pleasure with the mere move of your body, by the flick of your tongue on my fingers? You give me pleasure by you compliance. By your silence."

"I don't know if I understand, not really." Dean frowns. Of course he can see what it does to The Lord Gabriel. Dean believes him. Lord Gabriel is hard because Dean kneeled for him, stayed for him, obeyed him.

Lord Gabriel strokes Dean's cheek, his thumb tracing the cheekbone. "Now imagine the pleasure of your full submission, when I have you tied up, eagerly awaiting my touch. Or maybe you're on the floor, like now, ready to suck me off, knowing that all you can think of is how you can make me come with the slide of your tongue over my hard cock."

"Uhm," Dean says, almost a moan. "Yeah, I..." He looks at the bulge and somehow he'd like to lean forward to feel how the silk slides over it. Maybe he'd like to hear Lord Gabriel moan when his tongue makes the wet spot bigger. Maybe he'd like to make Lord Gabriel pull away the fabric, so that he can touch, tongue or fingers, to find out if Lord Gabriel's skin is as soft as the silk. Dean still doesn't understand fully the mechanisms of this game, but his own dick stirs, hardens underneath the thin organza of his robe. All he can think of is being on his knees, like now, with Lord Gabriel's cock in his mouth, and it arouses him.

"This is what I want to do to you, Dean. I want to make you obey me, make you ready to pleasure me when I want it." Gabriel leans forward, closer, close enough to let his breath ghost over Dean's lips like an invisible, touchless kiss. "I want to teach you, train you to become mine, to want my pleasure before anything else because it brings you pleasure too. Will you allow me to do so?"

"I—" Dean is not sure what to say. Not that he usually is at a loss for words. Only this is not what he expected. He is not sure what it does to him, this odd game. He can see what it does to Lord Gabriel, sure he can. But is it enough? It's better than the dogs. It's better than being cut open by Alastair — what isn't? — and it's better than— 

Dean stops the line of thought, the one that is merely calculating freedom. All this time, here, in the library, his lack of freedom hasn't bothered him. It's not that he has forgotten that Lord Gabriel owns him, because that's a fact and one he can do little about. They both know what happens if Dean is left to his own devices. 

No, what has been so freeing is the silence and the lack of demands. It's the freedom in being allowed to simply _exist_ , the freedom of fulfilling Lord Gabriel's wishes by being present.

It's new. It has always been the other way around. _Take care of Sam. Take care of Dad._ Take care of _everybody_ , as if Dean's entire worth is created from his ability to fight and protect and care for others. He has done it so willingly, always, because he loves Sam so much, loved that their dad always praised him for being his brave little soldier. 

Now Dean's world has been turned over, a storm has pulled it up, uprooted it, tilted it. Suddenly it is Dean who is being cared for. There is someone who cares for him, protects him, sees to his needs. It comes with a price, oh, it does. Still, the deal might turn out to be a bargain, lack of human rights set aside. It is not that Lord Gabriel is losing out on the deal, either, on the contrary: he gets exactly what he bargained for. But Dean might gain more from their connection than he'd believed he would.

"Yes," Dean says, knowing he had no idea what he agreed to when Gabriel asked him the first time. He still doesn't know for sure what all this submission shit entails, not really. But what little he knows he likes. He likes the taste Lord Gabriel gave him. Dean is going to fight it, oh yes, but he likes it. "Yes, I'll allow you to teach me."


	3. Angels of Rain and Lightning

Lord Gabriel makes good of his word. He is careful not to ask Dean to do something that he might not like too much. Dean gets used to strawberries and grapes and peaches. He tastes so many varieties of chocolate and other delicacies that he gains several pounds. he looks better, so that's not bad. Dean begins to long for more than being on the floor, though. Still, kneeling for Lord Gabriel, pleasing him by sitting still, replying obediently to his questions, eating treats off his hand isn't difficult. It is difficult to stay truly angry with Lord Gabriel.

Dean sleeps in Lord Gabriel's bed, takes it without complaining when Lord Gabriel jerks off in the morning, quietly, without making Dean do anything but watch. And Dean... hard pressed, he'd admit that he likes it when Lord Gabriel wakes up, sleepy, and orders him to kneel and watch. 

And by Heaven there is something to watch. When Lord Gabriel lies naked, moaning Dean's name, cock hard, his hand moving faster and faster, Dean cannot help but want. He has not been allowed sex since he arrived. He too jerks off, in the bath, in bed, when his master is gone for the day. Dean wants more. He wonders whether Lord Gabriel actually feels any true desire for him, for him as a person. Maybe submission is all Lord Gabriel sees. Maybe he was being nice when he told Dean that he wanted him. But everything they do, almost-together, is calm and quiet and not at all difficult to endure and Dean shouldn't complain. It's pleasurable and it's not Lord Alastair. 

But the lack of conflict and desire makes Dean want to seek it out, knowing very well that he's going to be the one to pay for it. His entire life has been conflict and war. He is fucked up enough to miss it.

Still, it's damned difficult to start a fight with someone who isn't there.

Gabriel leaves. Two weeks after Dean comes to his bed, Lord Gabriel leaves. Summer is almost over and the first fall storms are brewing. Rainfall starts, heavy and gray, with damp air and waves of unpleasant heat. The desert drinks it up, the first rain, and the next and the next. At the coasts the rising sea and the wind have wrecked the first few villages. At a loss of what else to do, Dean follows the weather on TV. There's an interview with Lord Gabriel and Lord Lucifer one night; they've stopped the floods, Lord Gabriel working the winds, and Lord Lucifer turning the ocean into ice, building temporary ice walls against the raging waves. Lord Gabriel is exhausted, and Lord Lucifer looks as if he'd rather be elsewhere. Little Samandriel is there, too, doing whatever chores that squires do. He looks tired as well.

Living in the Sky Palace is pleasant enough, however lonely it feels. Even in his half-prison Dean has more freedom than he has ever had, because for once he isn't restrained by the lack of money. The immense weight of responsibility has been taken away from him, although not by choice, and Dean feels lighter than he's felt in a long time. He has written to Sam, gotten a reply back, and that makes Dean's life even easier to bear. At times the ease makes him forget that he's a commodity, property, owned. 

Benny has taken care of Sam. Sam has moved to a better apartment he lets Dean know, a nice one, paid for partly by the money Benny won, partly by the guilt of winning. Sam is happy, he informs Dean, but he certainly isn't happy that Dean is gone. Sam misses him. They agree, however, that it's not too bad, under the circumstances. Lord Gabriel is not Alastair, and the chance that Dean leaves servitude unscathed is large.

They talk on the phone a few times. Sam is busy; he had several offers from reputable universities, and he is working too. He doesn't want to depend on Benny. Dean can understand that; they've always been taking care of themselves, never trusting anyone but family. Still, Dean is glad that Benny is keeping his promise, making sure that Sam is safe. His gigantic, combat-worn brother is of course not able to take care of himself, Dean pretends. Sam is his kid brother, and he needs to be protected like Dean has always protected him. 

Dean doesn't tell Sam about his deal with Lord Gabriel, not in detail, although Dean lets Sam know about the choice he's been given—the hounds or the bed. Sam isn't exactly enamored with Lord Gabriel, and Sam is quiet for a bit too long when Dean makes a brief account of the punishment he received during the first week in Lord Gabriel's hands. 

A silent Sam means an angry Sam, and Dean doesn't elaborate.

It takes some convincing to make Sam understand that he doesn't need to worry. Dean chuckles when he tells Sam that he'd not want to go a full year without someone to fuck, and that Lord Gabriel's doing great in that department. It's a lie, of course, since Lord Gabriel hasn't made any attempts at fucking Dean at all. Dean tells Sam that the annoying little Forever-Lord is good company. That is no lie; Dean likes Lord Gabriel's humor, the slightly malicious way he treats most people, except for his servants and maids and the young boy that is going to be a lord one day, Samandriel. Dean is so good at explaining to Sam that he has convinced himself too. Fate hasn't fucked him over entirely; staying with Lord Gabriel isn't really that horrible.

It has been more than a month since Dean's defeat when Sam calls again. Dean is happy to get a call from his brother. He is beginning to feel lonely; he has never been away from Sam for this long. Lord Gabriel is still working the weather, so he is gone as well. Dean is beginning to long for him to come back, just for a while, and Sam he misses a lot, by default.

All thoughts about Lord Gabriel disappear immediately right after the initial hellos. Sam sounds strange, and Dean is instantly worried.

"What's wrong?" Dean demands. "And don't tell me it's nothing. Is it Lord Alastair?"

"No, Dean. I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh no, dude. That's my line. Come on. You called. You _do_ want to talk about it."

"I can't. I promised... someone."

Dean is quiet so long that Sam coughs, not exactly subtle. "Oh-kay. And, erm, who is this particular someone, then?" It hits Dean like a thunderbolt. "It's not Benny is it? I'm going to kill him." Of course it isn't, Dean knows that. Benny would _never_ , not without permission, and besides Benny is taken. Andrea would kill him too.

"No, you won't. You like Benny. And if he'd tried anything—which he hasn't because he's in love with his wife, and not into men, and a gentleman—I'd have kicked his ass. I am not as fond of him as you are. He's the reason you're gone, remember?"

"So it's not Benny?"

"I'm not going to tell you, Dean." Sam sounds so prissy that Dean cannot help imagine the bitchface he's pulling. "Not yet. Please."

"I miss you," Dean says instead."You're sure you're not doing something stupid?"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Of course I'm not able to do anything without you, like getting a boyf—" Sam shuts his mouth audibly.

"A boyfriend?" Dean sing-songs. "My little Sammy, all grown up? Who is he?" Dean is both happy for Sam and worried at the same time. "Is that why you called? Come on, Sam. Tell me," Dean demands, curious, mostly because he needs to know so he can either stop worrying or plot bloody revenge against the man who has dared touch his innocent little brother.

"Stop asking. I have to go. I... I wanted to tell you that I might be allowed a visit very soon. We... have talked to Lord Gabriel about a date."

"We? As in you and... the guy."

"I have to go, Dean. Be careful."

The line is dead and there is nothing but silence in the other end.

*

For a few days Dean thinks about what Sam told him, not coming to a decision about what to do. He could call Sam and ask, of course, but they don't do that, they don't _talk_ , they are not girls. That Sam shared this much with him is a miracle in itself. And yet Dean can't think of any male that Sam has had more than brief contact with lately, no one but Benny, or possibly Lord Gabriel. But Benny is married and Lord Gabriel swore he would take care of Sam, didn't he?

Lord Gabriel?

No, Sam would never do that. He is possibly less fond of Lord Gabriel than he is of Benny. Dean walks the castle's corridors, restless, thinking about his conversation with Sam. Why wouldn't Sam tell him what he was doing, and with whom?

Dean's line of thought drifts back to Lord Gabriel. His master hasn't mentioned anything about Sam, except that he has made arrangements for him. Now Dean wonders what kind of arrangement Lord Gabriel was talking about. Maybe Sam is ignoring his dislike of Lord Gabriel in favor of favors? Lord Gabriel _is_ hot, even if he's an ass. And Sam would do almost anything to be sure that Dean is safe. He _could_ have done that, hit on Lord Gabriel to get access to visit the Sky Palace. Lord Gabriel is an opportunist if there ever was one and Sam is handsome. Lord Gabriel would hit that if he got the opportunity, Dean is sure. And since Lord Gabriel holds no love for Dean, so why shouldn't he take what he wants, even if what he wants is Sam? It's what Lord Gabriel does, he _takes_.

The sudden annoyance with both Sam and Lord Gabriel hits Dean hard. It feels a lot like jealousy, but Dean doesn't do jealousy, and definitely not in connection with Lord Gabriel. Why would he? Lord Gabriel is merely the man that bought him.

Dean knows that he has no say in it, but he dislikes the idea of Lord Gabriel with _anyone_ more than he dislikes the idea of Sam with a boyfriend. Most of all, Dean dislikes the thought of them together, Sam and Lord Gabriel. Lord Gabriel promised Dean to take care of Sam, and what he had in mind was not for Lord Gabriel to make a move on an innocent kid.

Dean huffs. He is so much hotter, and he needs to convince Lord Gabriel that he should be happy that Dean chose him in favor of his dogs. Also, Dean is going to kill Sam if he has as much as looked funny at Lord Gabriel. 

No, Dean is going to kill _Lord Gabriel_. After he has reminded him that he belongs to Dean, and that he needs to keep his filthy hands and thoughts off his Sam.

*

Outside the rain is pouring; it's the fifth day in a row and the desert is flooded. The sand and the sparse vegetation do their best to soak up every precious drop. The sky is as dull as Dean's mood. He is still sort of hung up on the thought of Sam and Lord Gabriel, trying to make himself see sense. Of course Sam hasn't allowed Lord Gabriel to make advances, he tells himself. Judging from Lord Gabriel's exhausted look that Dean has seen in the news over and over the last couple of days, Lord Gabriel isn't in a state where he'd make advances to anything but a bed. An empty bed.

Dean leaves the thoughts of Sam and Lord Gabriel together in favor of swimming in the pond in the palace garden. He fetches a pair of hounds to play with after that. They keep him occupied for an hour before he returns to the bedroom, Lord Gabriel's bedroom. Nobody has cared to assign Dean his own room, or even a cell or a pallet in the kitchen or a blanket with the hounds. So he assumes it is his bedroom too.

In the evening Samandriel returns, ragged and dirty. His clothes are wind-torn and he has serious frostbites, courtesy of Lord Lucifer. Samandriel still hurts, despite Lord Gabriel's healing. Samandriel runs from the kitchen to the baths to Dean's bedroom that isn't really his, preparing for Lord Gabriel's return. 

"I have a message from The Lord Gabriel," Samandriel says when he finally has time to sit down for ten minutes. He looks haunted. 

"That bad?" Dean asks. "The storms or the company?" He takes the envelope that Samandriel holds out for him. His name is on it, written in a fluent, secure hand. Why Gabriel can't pop in himself, or use instant messaging and Readers like everybody else is beyond Dean. On the other hand, the cream-colored piece of paper is a luxury that few can afford and a small gesture from Gabriel's side, denoting that Dean might hold some value for him. Apart from the seventy million dollars he paid for him, of course. 

"Lucifer... Lord Lucifer went back to the Snow Palace before they were done securing the coastline. _Urgent_ , he said. Lord Gabriel was upset. I suspect," Samandriel adds, "that The Lord Gabriel is no less eager to return to the Sky Palace, however."

Dean turns the envelope and opens it carefully. "What does he want?"

"I am not in the habit of reading my master's mail."

Dean unfolds the piece of paper. That Lord Gabriel has sent him a message on real paper truly is surprising. Paper is costly, trees are rare. Sea water and desert sand they have in spades, but trees... no. Lord Gabriel has wasted an entire sheet of heavy stationary on this brief note. 

_Be at my disposal at 10 am. Wear nothing._

Reality moves in on Dean. This is why he was purchased, the reason Lord Gabriel trained him. Tomorrow he is to be his owner's way of relief, the obedient counterweight to the unruly tempests. A toy. A pleasure-slave. All Dean can hope for now is that Lord Gabriel is trustworthy, that he stands by the promises he made, never asking for what Dean is not ready to give. It makes Dean nervous. Strangely enough, the anticipation makes him aroused as well.

Still, there is something else that makes Dean uneasy and tense.

He has truly missed Lord Gabriel.

*

Gabriel is tired. He feels torn and battered, exhausted from days and weeks of relentless combat, fighting the hurricanes and the floods. Last he heard, Michael and Raphael were on the other side of the country, stopping forest fires and erosion in the mountains, saving the trees that they all so badly need. He leaves his clothes in a pile, they are nothing but rags now, an island of dirt and torn fabric on the marble floor. Naked, Gabriel lets Samandriel help him into the bath, sighing deeply as he floats in the steaming hot water. "My servant? Dean?" he asks, the thought of Dean waiting for him, kneeling, is so very soothing.

"Awaits you in your bedroom as you requested, My Lord." Samandriel collects the ruined clothes and walks out. Samandriel isn't pleased with him. His back is tense, his steps hurried. Gabriel is not sure why, precisely. Gabriel is sure, thought, that it's about Dean.

Oh, Dean. Resting, the waves gently massaging his sore body, Gabriel cannot help thinking about his beautiful toy. Dean is who kept him fighting, knowing that the sooner Gabriel sent the hurricanes back across the ocean, the sooner he'd be back here, with his willing slave. Gabriel pictures it, Dean on his knees, his lush lips wet and ready. High Lord, Gabriel wants to shove his cock between the plump lips, or thrust his tongue into Dean's hot mouth. He wants to bite at Dean's full lips. He wants to make Dean squirm and moan under him. He wants Dean to give in to him so very, very eagerly. There is something, Gabriel thinks, about someone so strong and feisty, someone who dares give up that kind of strength up to him so beautifully. Dean does not have the force and physical power the Forever-Lords have, but he might be one of the strongest humans that Gabriel has ever encountered. With the right training and the right education, Dean Winchester would make a great Forever-Lord, a very powerful one. He could be a threat to the High Lord himself if he was helped to find the core of his magic. That thought makes Gabriel moan. It arouses him even more, imagining Dean so incredibly strong, a force that few would be able to stand against. In Gabriel's fantasy Dean would submit, surrender to his wishes, surrender to him in exchange for the immense pleasure Gabriel would give him. 

Fisting his hardening cock, Gabriel jerks off, he needs to, he cannot allow his libido to take over. He needs to stay in control. Of himself, of Dean. He cannot allow himself to go too far, to step over the hard limits that Dean has set up for him to move between. In time, the limits will be widened, stretched, but for now, Gabriel needs to step forward carefully. He owns Dean, he can do to him what he wants, take him, rape him, ruin him. 

And he won't. No matter what happens, he won't.

Gabriel is not like Alastair, and he never will be. Yes, Gabriel knows that he is cruel and malicious at times; he is not a kind being. But the submission Gabriel seeks from Dean is one that is given to him as a gift. Everything he takes from Dean without his consent has no value and will accomplish nothing. Taking Dean against his wishes, without his full consent, is unacceptable. Force will do nothing but make it absolutely certain that Dean will leave at the end of the year, never to come back.

The thought of Dean in his bed, tied up, opened with tools and hands, begging to be taken makes Gabriel concentrate on pleasure. It doesn't take long before he comes, moaning Dean's name over and over.

He's so incredibly, utterly _fucked_.

*

Servants open the doors to Gabriel's suite. He's impatient. He can't wait to find his relief in the touch of freckled skin, in the possession of Dean's body, in the power he is allowed to hold for a time. He walks through the lounge, briskly, and stops, breathless, in the marble-framed arch between the lounge and the actual bedroom. The soft daylight, smoothed out into a pale, cold light by the curtains, falls on the floor, on the plush Persian carpet on which Dean has decided to kneel.

Between the beauty of his home world and the rugged beauty of Earth, Gabriel knows that nothing is more beautiful than Dean Winchester, kneeling in submission.

"Heaven," Gabriel whispers, loud enough for Dean to hear. There is but a small movement, a minute tensing of muscles that reveals that Dean has heard him.

"Welcome home, My Lord," Dean says, his voice rough and low and almost sultry. "I missed your company."

"And I yours." Gabriel suppresses a need to fall on his knees in front of Dean, to raise up his face and kiss the inviting lips until Dean cannot breathe and begs for mercy. It is not where they are, not within the limits Dean has set, not within the development that Gabriel has planned. It's too early, his submissive servant has not yet earned the right to Gabriel's emotions, nor has he earned the right to be given a peek into Gabriel's heart. No, it has to be slow, like when Gabriel was young, when the world was young and he sat with his father, the High Lord, watching the universe expand and grow into the immense wonder it turned out to be. 

A wonder that contains such beauty, the most beautiful of possessions.

Dean.

Slow. Patient. Gabriel knows he has to wait. 

"I am satisfied with you," Gabriel says, walking closer, circling Dean, taking in the way his muscles flex, the curve of his back, the strength of his thighs. High Lord, those thighs. Gabriel imagines Dean on his back, legs spread, the pale, muscular thighs bound, spread, pulled up, forcing him open. Gabriel stops, rubbing his cock with the heel of his hand, smearing pre-come over his robe. Maybe he'll make Dean rub his face over it later, his handsome face buried in the rich silk, giving Dean a small taste of what it will be like when he has come so far as to want Gabriel's cock and come.

For a second Gabriel considers warping time, to jump forward to take the pleasure he wants, but he abandons the idea. Dean must come willingly, and Gabriel will not cheat. 

Instead Gabriel decides to perfect Dean's pose. He wants to show Dean how it will cost him little to give immense pleasure. Michelangelo, Donatello and Agesandros were all held back by the immovability of marble and stone. Gabriel, on the other hand, has this, his Dean. He can move a limb, make a new statue, then look at it, move another limb, all the time search for the perfection of the piece of art that is Dean Winchester.

He lets his hand dance the distance between one shoulder, across the broad expanse of perfect skin to the other. Dean shivers at the touch, and so does Gabriel. Dean makes him come apart by a minuscule twitch, by the way he breathes, by existing in the same space as he, taking up room in a way that makes Gabriel unable to pay attention to anything but his handsome servant. He who has seen eternity, all the wonders of dimensions and universes, he can look nowhere but at Dean, the most perfect creature in the entire universe. 

There are moments when Gabriel thinks that his fall from grace started the moment Dean Winchester stepped into the Cage. The earth underneath his feet seemed to disappear that instant. Now the only thing that keeps Gabriel grounded is his hand on Dean's skin.

"Straighten your back. Head up, eyes averted." Gabriel can't stop himself from touching Dean. His skin is luminescent in the candlelight, almost as if it has a inner light. Neck like a swan, muscles like a racehorse, lips rose-petal pink. Oh, Dean is the epitome of human beauty. It's a beauty that is _here_ , real, not ethereal like the beauty of the Forever-Lords. It's a beauty made up of earth and fire, of wind and rain. Gabriel finds it so incredibly alluring. But without the constant challenge in Dean's posture, in the way he moves, the way he studies Gabriel from under half-closed lids Dean's beauty would have been cold marble. It is not. It is life, heartbeat, blood. Passion.

Gabriel slides a finger down Dean's spine, smiling as Dean shivers. It could have been a shiver of disgust, but Gabriel reads his human well enough; his thoughts are so clear and bright and clean. Promising Dean not to read his mind is a courtesy he usually doesn't bestow on anyone, but he sticks to his promise. He doesn't look into Dean's mind, but is content to soak up Dean's overflowing emotions. Gabriel can sense Dean's urge to break free from him, from his touch; he is like a skittish colt under his hands. Gabriel understands the reluctance, the hesitation to give in to this new experience. Gabriel turns his hand, slides it down Dean's chest, brushing over a nipple on the way to his waist. Dean's breathing turn into rapid little animals, fleeing from his chest. Gabriel is pleased.

Gabriel kneels, studying every inch of his servant. Dean submits like he does everything else, with all his heart, all his being. _Brave_ , Gabriel decides. He is quiet long enough to make Dean squirm uncomfortably on the soft rug. Then Gabriel places a hand on each of Dean's knees, cherishing the nervous gasp that Dean makes. 

"You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen," Gabriel whispers softly. "Your compliance makes you even more beautiful to me."

Dean's breath hitches, but Gabriel senses no apprehension. Dean is quiet. Yes, it is as it should be. Beauty is not enough. Submission, power, those are the spices that turn beauty into passionate desire. "Good boy," Gabriel praises. He presses Dean's thighs a bit further apart. "Like this. Legs spread a little." Fingertips dancing on the pale hills of Dean's inner thighs, Gabriel smiles when Dean's cock twitches. "Yes. Perfect. This will be your position while you wait for me." Gabriel resists the temptation to touch Dean's cock, making it hard and dripping. It's too early, far too early. "Look at me," Gabriel says.

Dean turns his face up, eyes strangely deep, as if he is somewhere else. 

"There will be a time where I wish to take you with me, a time when I wish you to submit to me outside the walls of my palace," Gabriel says quietly. "And I will say this now, giving you time to think about it. You need not worry that I will leave you defenseless. You must understand that I do not demand submission to punish you or to put you down in the eyes of others. This—" Gabriel moves his hand between them, "—this is between us. The only person you answer to in this palace, in any palace, anywhere, is me. You are mine, and nobody touches my property, nor do they look at it, coveting what is mine. What you do is for me, Dean. You are not to be looked at. You are not to be touched. You are not to be desired by anyone but me. That goes for the servants in my palace as well, they know already, but I want you to know, too, that you are off limits for anyone but me."

It's almost invisible, but Dean's shoulders relax, and the small sigh that Dean makes tells Gabriel everything he needs to know. He knows what Dean wants. "I give you permission to act upon my orders if I am not with you when you kneel like this. And my orders are that nobody is to treat you inappropriately. When you are put in a submissive position you belong to me, and you will act accordingly. You will use whatever force necessary to fend off any unwanted attention. You are mine, Dean."

"I understand." Dean finally speaks, and Gabriel is relieved, too, when Dean doesn't avert his eyes but meets his inquiring look without flinching. Now they are getting somewhere, now the invisible chains and walls are falling into place, protecting Dean, preventing him from leaving.

Gabriel does not want broken or subservient. He wants Dean's strength and pride as much as he wants his submission. He leans forward without thinking, pressing his lips to Dean's pretty mouth. Dean swallows a gasp, then freezes, as if he doesn't know what to do. Dean's breath is sweet and hot and his parted lips inviting. "Kiss me," Gabriel demands. "The way you like it. You may move."

Dean is a quick learner. Gabriel senses Dean's fluttering desire, a petal-soft butterfly against his own rough sand-strewn mind. Then Dean moves, sneaking an arm around Gabriel's waist, pulling him closer. Dean's willingness to learn and obey, his willingness to become the perfect toy makes Gabriel moan. Awkwardly Gabriel straddles Dean's thighs, accepting Dean's move, giving him leave to show his eagerness to please. 

The kiss is disappointing. Oh, Dean's lips are soft and pliant, and he opens his mouth to Gabriel's tongue without hesitation. Only there is no eager compliance, no lust-driven desperation. It's merely _adequate_. Gabriel can still sense Dean's need, but it's mixed with... _duty_. The kiss is an escape. It's obedience for the sake of survival. It is neither honest submission, nor is it desire or need.

What it is is _wrong_.

It is very wrong, and in a sudden light of clarity Gabriel understands that it is no fault of Dean.

He has failed. He moved too fast. _He_ failed, and Dean has been slipping through his fingers all this time, slowly, like sand, one grain at a time. quietly, without Gabriel noticing.

*

Gabriel slams the doors to his chambers behind him, caught up in his failure. He left Dean inside, still kneeling, mouth wet from a kiss he clearly didn't want. Pulling the robe tight around him like an armor, he summons his squire.

Samandriel comes running at the commotion. "My Lord?"

It's a quick decision. He can't leave Dean on the floor, pretending it is his fault. "My brother. The Snow Palace. Now." He grabs Samandriel, somehow needing grounding, and steps into the void.

"I need your help," Gabriel declares as he slams open the door to Lucifer's rooms. He stops, stunned, watching his older brother, flushed and with eyes shining from desire, entangle himself from Dean's younger brother. Gabriel blinks, then crossing his arms over his chest, looking at the flustered pair. Sam Winchester is busy smoothing his hair, and Lucifer tries—in vain— to cover up the erection that his thin tunic does little to hide. Lucifer gets up from the sofa, silk pillows sliding onto to floor with a soft hiss. Sam covers himself up with his discarded shirt, embarrassed. Gabriel is about to taunt Lucifer, wanting to take this lovely opportunity to turn his frustration and failure into malice when Lucifer turns, leaning in to kiss Sam on the lips, more gentle than Gabriel has ever seen him. The cruel words get stuck in his throat. His annoying brother and this lanky moose are... in love?

Lucifer is in love with this human, there is no doubt about it. The emotion is so clear that it emanates from them in waves.

Maybe this is what it it is about? Frowning, Gabriel tries to understand. He likes humans; they're a constant source of entertainment and pleasure. Haven't the Forever-Lords inhabited the Earth for a century by now, helping the human race to save what little was left to save, making the human race grateful and thus available? Gabriel surely has had his fun with humans, all right, but it was only that. Fun.

And this... _this_ is the difference, the difference that Gabriel never saw. "Oh," he says, filled with wonder. "I think... I see." Behind him Samandriel makes a sound that Gabriel would have found offensive, had he not been so intent on finding out what to do with Dean, finding out how to want and give this shared _lovelovelove_ that beats and throbs and hurts and heals, all at the same time. Gabriel had no idea that he had been looking for something like it.

Lucifer nods, obviously reluctant to leave Sam. He cups Sam's cheek, sighing deeply, before he walks the few steps to a low silver table and pours a cup of water, then yet another. A brief touch from a finger makes the cups hoar-frost white. Lucifer hands Sam one of the cups before he returns to the couch to sit with... with his...

"My lover." Lucifer smirks, content and arrogant and about to get lost in Sam Winchester's kaleidoscope-colored eyes once more. "My _love_." Lucifer sits down again, as close to Sam as he possibly can without being indecent. "Why are you here, Gabriel? As you see, you are interrupting my quality time with Sam."

"I'm a failure," Gabriel admits. He'd never say anything like it, not if his Dean's well-being wasn't jeopardized. "I thought he'd—" Gabriel stops. "I don't know what I thought. I wanted." 

"Failure? Took you long enough to see that. You know, Lord Gabriel," Sam says, entirely disrespectful. "You could just... free him. Or court him, treat him like a normal person instead of keeping him in that little toy chest of yours when you have no use for him. Have you been to see him at all while you were fighting the storms? No, I didn't think so. Surely Dean feels particularly wanted after that. I could get on my knees and beg you to let us have him, but Lucifer has made it clear to me that you probably aren't able to see reason. Not yet."

Lucifer has always been direct and it takes Gabriel only a few seconds to understand why Lucifer and Sam Winchester are made for each other. The younger Winchester is a horribly direct and rude human being, something that Lucifer clearly appreciates. Gabriel shouldn't be surprised. Sam is Dean's brother after all. 

"The difference between you and me," Lucifer says, directed at Gabriel, " is that I am not fond of humanity in general. They are loud, primitive apes—" 

Lucifer is interrupted by a whack on the shoulder from Sam. "Shut up!"

"Sorry, Sam. But they are, for the main part. They are unable to rule a planet without ruining it. Certain humans, however..." Lucifer sighs and looks at Sam in a way that would make a summer-hot desert feel cool in comparison. "I am particular in my affections. You, Gabriel, you love the planet, but you have no idea how to love a human. You cannot take a heart without consent. You cannot create feelings where there are none. I, on the other hand... I love harshly, violently. I want everything, but not unless it is given to me willingly. And I want my lover to be willing to love me back, and to accept my love, despite the harshness of it." Again Lucifer can't keep his hands off Sam. With his arm possessively thrown around Sam's shoulder, Lucifer stares at Gabriel, as if he's trying very hard to make it clear what he's saying. "But when someone hands me his heart freely, like Sam does? There is nothing I wouldn't do for him. My love is limitless. It burns, and I would have it no other way. I am not holding back! I will burn with the man I love and it is the fire of passion."

Gabriel begins to understand that he's been clueless when it comes to love and affection. "And you— you and Sam? How? Two months ago you hadn't even met him, you just admired him from afar. Where is the difference between you and me?"

"So he does comprehend as much, your clueless brother," Sam says before he turns the slanted eyes, cold with disdain, to Gabriel. "Maybe consider the immense difference of being courted politely compared to being bought and starved and treated like dirt."

Gabriel frowns. How the hell does Sam know about that little mishap? Gabriel glares angrily at Lucifer. "You told him?"

"Dean told him, I told him, just as I am going to tell him everything else. Besides, I went to offer my help and my condolences to Sam at the day of Dean's defeat, and he was kind enough to let me in."

"I like you, despite your appalling family," Sam tells Lucifer, before he turns to looks pointedly at Gabriel. "Yes, Dean told me how you treat him, so don't blame Lucifer. I don't understand how you expect Dean to trust and worship you without giving him anything in return."

"Sam likes me!" Lucifer declares proudly, looking like a little boy on his birthday. "Despite my connection to my slave-owning brother. And I like Sam's lack of respect for me and for the established. I like him."

"Well, I'm so happy for you," Gabriel snaps acerbically, his usual cocky attitude so far gone that it is nowhere in sight. Gabriel still tries to make sense of all this. Lucifer who hates humans doesn't hate Sam. "I find it ironic that you, Lucifer, are attempting to teach me how to treat humans. What if Sam leaves you?" Gabriel asks, imagining with dread what will happen if Dean leaves him. Gabriel tries not to give in to the fear that Dean is going to escape at the first available chance, no matter the danger he'll be in.

"Then Sam leaves, and I will mourn. I don't own him, I don't own his free will or his person. I will make sure, though, that I give him no reason to leave. You cannot force feelings, Gabriel. You are shit at teaching people lessons, if that's what you're trying to do with Dean. You cannot force Dean to love you. What you're doing now, making him think he's nothing but an expensive toy? It's not helping. It might be that our father is reluctant when it comes to preventing the games in the Cage from continuing. It might be that the abhorrent abuse it allows us to carry out towards humans is still widely accepted, but you of all people have fought long and hard against the tradition. Do not partake in the abuse because you suddenly think that you can have what isn't yours to have." Lucifer frowns, pointing at Gabriel accusingly. "If you want Dean to stay, treat him with love and respect. Offer him freedom."

Gabriel knows that his older brother is less than happy with him. "That's not why I took him with me, Lucifer. I want to save him, not abuse him." Gabriel tries to defend himself, knowing that he is applying double standards to his arguments.

Lucifer sends Gabriel a sharp glare. "Humans are idiots who are trying to tear each other and the planet apart. You know I do not like them. But we have fought Lord Alastair and his allies all this time because we both know that Earth will not be the paradise our father had hoped it would become if Alastair and Abaddon take over. They will cast our father out, and they will rule with fear. I advise you not to do go down that road, undermining the support we have. Isn't that why we are here, on Earth, to begin with, to stand strong against the forces that want to ruin this beautiful place? Let Dean go if he wants to go, Gabriel. You should know better. Let him go, and Sam and I will take care of him, keep him out of Alastair's reach."

"I'm not letting him leave me!" Gabriel can't stand the idea. No, he will not give Dean up. He _owns_ him. He owns Dean's time, every second of the year that he paid for. Then again, some of Lucifer's romantic babbling does make sense, not that Gabriel is willing to admit it openly just yet. "I paid a fortune for him. He's mine! He entered the Cage willingly. He signed a contract. He knew what the outcome would be if he lost!" The wind outside the windows picks up with Gabriel's rising anger. The sand hisses angrily, showering the heavy stone walls with showers of coarse pebbles and fine dust. 

"Calm down," Lucifer demands," you're ruining my palace." Lucifer gathers what moisture he can from the air to create a slight cover of ice to force the sand down. The temperature drops.

"Sorry." Gabriel hates fighting with Lucifer. They bicker all the time, but neither likes to fight. They've fought enough when they were younger and Gabriel does not want to start all over again. There is no way that's going to end well. "Then explain it to me," he urges. "Just— I am not going to let him go. I... I can't. You know how it works, Lucifer. A year of servitude. If I let him go, he'll still be a serf, a servant, and he'll be defenseless. I don't trust you to take proper care of him. Not like I am going to take care of him."

"Dean is a Cage fighter. Yeah, sure, _defenseless_ is the right expression." Sam again, sarcastic bastard.

Gabriel decides that his conversation with Lucifer will go smoother without Sam butting in. Gabriel needs Lucifer to explain all this love-stuff to him right the fuck now. The part about being loving and _together_ and how it is possible to make Dean look at him the way Sam looks at Lucifer." Sam, I assume you would like to go speak to Dean?" Gabriel asks, thinking himself to be cunning. "Samandriel can take you through the void. I assure you I have not abused him. I have done nothing to him against his will. Except for that one time, right after the Cage. I have apologized to Dean for it."

"I'm sure that helps a lot." Sam's sarcasm again. "I'd watch your back if I were you. Dean is not the forgiving type."

"I was waiting for your permission to visit Dean with Sam anyway, "Lucifer says, cleverly redirecting the conversation to less explosive topics. "Sam wants to see for himself what you are doing to his brother."

"I'm not doing anything," Gabriel argues, exasperated. He is treating Dean with kindness. He hasn't forced Dean to do anything against his will. He has given Dean a way out. Dean could have said no, refused him. Gabriel has done everything he can to make Dean feel comfortable. He wants to shout and shake Sam, make him explain humans to him, so that he can go back to Dean, salvage what he just ruined.

Gabriel sighs, desperate for help. Maybe he should stop coming up with excuses. He is clearly doing something wrong. It took Lucifer, that arrogant ass, less than five minutes to make Sam fall in love with him, and knowing Lucifer there has to be a trick that he needs to learn. No one in their right mind would fall in love with Lucifer if there isn't a trick. As much as Gabriel loves his big brother, he really don't see how anyone could find Lucifer attractive. Except that he looks good, he has money and he is surprisingly gentle and subdued in Sam's presence, doing everything he can to appear charming and kind. 

Or maybe it's Sam who brings out the best in him?

Throwing his hands up, Gabriel declares himself defeated. "Go see Dean, Sam. I don't care. I don't give a fuck! I can't—" No, he can't do this. He can't. Gabriel knows he has lost. When he left Dean naked and kneeling on the floor, he lost. Dean is never going to belong to him. "Go see for yourself. Please. I am not treating Dean badly. Just... leave! Go tell Dean that I won't bother him again."

*

The sound of the door makes Dean straighten up. His hands are placed neatly behind his back, his eyes averted, just like Gabriel taught him. Although Dean isn't entirely convinced that he likes what Gabriel is doing to him, he doesn't want to sleep on the floor. The expensive Afghans and the antique Persian carpets are comfortable enough, but the bed... Oh, he is in love with it.

Dean prepares for the impact. He is sure that making Gabriel run off like he did won't earn him any brownie points. Still, he is not sure what made Lord Gabriel so angry. So Dean refused a kiss, but he hadn't explicitly told Lord Gabriel that he would allow kissing. He was taken by surprise. No biggie, except maybe it is.

"Dean? Oh, Dean! What has he done to you?" The voice is not Gabriel's, and neither is the concern. 

Sam? It can't be? Dean looks up. "Fuck, what are you... Sam!" Despite his nakedness, Dean is up, embracing his brother almost brutally hard. "Sam! You haven't come to help me escape or something?" Dean pulls back a little. "I won't escape with you. I... I have given Gabriel my word that I'm staying the year."

"Did he force you to do this? Has he been cruel to you? You said that he was all right! That he'd promised never to treat you badly. I'm going to—" Sam is beyond appalled and angry, Dean sees it immediately.

"No. He didn't force me. Calm down. Lord Gabriel isn't like that. I told you he gave me a way out, you know that! I could have taken the hounds, served in the kitchen. He swore he'd protect me even if I didn't want him. It's my choice to stay."

"Why are you naked?" Sam's fingers twitch around Dean's arms. He lets go and steps back, trying not to look at Dean's dick. "Why does he humiliate you like this?"

Dean doesn't feel any particular urge to elaborate on Lord Gabriel's kinks or his own. Nor does he want to tell Sam how disappointed he is in Lord Gabriel for leaving him vulnerable and confused on the floor. It won't happen again. Dean has learned his lesson. He'll be more careful in the future. Trust has to be earned, and Lord Gabriel has work to do in that department because right now Dean trusts his owner just about as far as he can throw him. Dean might have displeased him, but not in a way that should make Lord Gabriel abandon him like this. Dean is going to demand an explanation and he's not going to be polite about it.

"I should probably dress." Dean ignores Sam's curious glances. "You're sure you didn't come to help me escape? If you broke in, you better break out before anybody comes and finds you here. You'll get in trouble, and so will I." 

"I'm here with Samandriel. Lord Gabriel came to talk to Lucifer. I happened to be there." Sam raises his head defiantly, as if he _wants_ Dean to get angry.

"You were with the Lord of Ice?" Dean's eyes widen. "Why? I mean, you're here officially?" Dean frowns, his brain not exactly tuned in on anything but Lord Gabriel and their ruined playtime. "But... shouldn't you call the Lord of Ice... not his first name? I mean... shouldn't you use his title?"

"Lord Gabriel gave me permission to go see you. Mostly so that he could bitch about the entire situation to Lucifer He's not too clever. He ended up really annoyed with Lucifer and me." Sam is deliberately ignoring the question.

"Lucifer and _you_? As in Lucifer and _you_ , you? As in _he_ is your special someone? What the—" Dean stares at his little brother, wide-eyed with surprise.

"Yeah. As in my special someone. I— " Sam takes a deep breath. "Lucifer is my lover, Dean. I wanted to tell you, you know that. I needed to know where it was going first, before I said anything. I needed to be sure that there was anything to tell at all. I also wanted to tell you about him face to face."

Dean decides that this is the exact right time to lose control of his jaw. It takes him a few seconds to have his lazy brain to catch up with the information, and yet another few seconds to actually move his jaw up from around the basement. At least Lord Gabriel didn't hit on Sam. That's a relief. "You. You did not sell yourself to him, did you?" He regrets asking even before the sentence is finished.

"Oh, classy, Dean!" Sam glares at him with an outraged look on his face. "As if I'd whore myself out, you should know me better than that. Lucifer offered his help and we... I _like_ him, and he likes that I challenge him and his contempt for humans. He tells me he is in love with me."

Dean has to check his jaw again. "Awesome. I leave you alone for a month and a half and you shack up with a frigging Forever-Lord! The fuck, Sam! What's going on? You're moving up in society and what the hell?"

"And you? Don't tell me that you aren't shacking up with one. Looks that way to me, what with you all naked in Lord Gabriel's bedroom."

"Oh, you got me there," Dean snaps. "You know that he bought me to make a bed-slave out of me, so don't act so surprised."

Sam takes a step back, for the first time really looking at Dean. "Clearly you are not being tortured. And no one made you lose your sass. Good sign."

Dean is getting tired of the circular argument. "I _told_ you. He is all right." Dean can handle it, he can. Mostly because he sort of... likes Lord Gabriel a little. When he doesn't hate him, that is.

"Stop apologizing for him." Sam crosses his arms over his chest. "Do you want my help or not? Or was Lord Gabriel lying when he showed up at the Snow Palace, begging Lucifer to help him treat you as more than his new and interesting dehumanized toy?"

"Lord Gabriel did that?" Dean is a bit deflated. He didn't think that Lord Gabriel would be willing to admit that he'd made yet another mistake. Dean grabs the closest silk throw and wraps it around himself. He tries not to be angry with Sam. His little brother deserves answers, and fighting isn't going to do them any good. He's not sure what to say. Does Lord Gabriel mistreat him? No, not really. Lord Gabriel has kept to his promises, verbatim. Dean is still not sure whether he truly likes Lord Gabriel, but he doesn't feel threatened or endangered. It is true, though, that Lord Gabriel's people skills are in need of a brush-up. As a Forever-Lord, Lord Gabriel is used to everybody being at his beck and call, and while he cares about Dean's comfort, he probably doesn't understand human emotion very well when he cannot poke around in people's brains. Lord Gabriel probably never had reason to try without the mind-reading. The backside of being in a position of power, Dean supposes. His Royal Highness Prince Gabriel _is_ an entitled little shit. It is still surprising that Lord Gabriel ran back to Lord Lucifer for help. He might not be outside redemption.

"So what's it gonna be?" Sam presses on. "Are you going to continue pretending that everything is fine?"

"No, Sam, it's not like that. Lord Gabriel... Lord Gabriel might have forgotten that I'm not just his plaything but he is by no means cruel." Dean tries to explain what went wrong between them. "He demanded something from me I wasn't ready to give." Dean rubs his mouth with the backside of his hand as if it could erase the ruined kiss. "Or I guess I was too surprised to respond."

"Do you want out?" Sam doesn't look too worried now. "It's gonna be a bitch, what with the lack of rights and everything, but we can do it. Lucifer—"

"Thanks, Sam, but no thanks. If it gets real tough, then perhaps. But as it is now... he's just playing games with me. It's not that bad. I get fed, I sleep in his bed, I'm protected. I have servants, even though I'm supposed to be lower than them. When he's not here I can do what I like, go to the nearest town, even. I have guards who follow me so I'll be protected. If Lord Gabriel wanted to abuse me I don't think he'd have waited. I'm safe with him, despite his bumbling idiocy."

"I'm not sure I understand whatever it is you two are playing at, but as long as you're doing it willingly, I suppose I have to stay out of it. Just promise me you'll send for Lucifer if you need help. He'll let me know instantly. You're sure you want to stay? I mean, you'd be safe in Lucifer's household too; the Snow Palace is a fortress."

Dean thinks about it for a moment, ignoring Sam's impatience. Okay, so Lord Gabriel is a little hot, and the kiss they shared wasn't too bad, and it'd have been a lot better if Dean had participated, and not just let Lord Gabriel do what he wanted with minimal emotional involvement from Dean's side of things. _Stupid_ , Dean thinks. _I could have driven him mad with desire, just from a kiss._ Dean's lips form a smirk. Maybe he should try? It'd be interesting to see how far out he could take Lord Gabriel, see if he could make him submit to his wishes. Maybe show actual emotions. Dean's smirk fades and turns into a gentle smile, directed at Sam. "Thank Lord Lucifer from me, and tell him I appreciate his offer, but that it won't be necessary, not as things stand," Dean says and grabs Sam's shoulder, squeezing it. "And you, Sam, be careful. Benny keeps an eye on you, just so you know. And I made Lord Gabriel promise he'd protect you, too, so if Lord Lucifer... if he doesn't treat you right, you talk to Lord Gabriel."

Sam laughs. "Lord Gabriel and Benny have to get in line. Lucifer is delightfully possessive. He will never do anything to hurt me. He's in love with me. And..." Sam sends Dean a giddy smile. "I think I'm in love with him. But it explains why I have received offers from just about every prestigious university on the globe because Lucifer had nothing to do with that. He makes good of his word, Lord Gabriel."

Dean is relieved to hear that. "I had no reason to believe otherwise. He's not entirely normal, but I think he's an honorable man. And I will stand by my promise as well. I'm staying with him. No matter what, I can't be free, and I'd... I'd rather be not-free with Lord Gabriel. It's less than a year, and he really is good to me when he's not running off in the middle of, erm, sex. If you and Lord Lucifer could convince him that you should have regular visitation rights or something, it'd be great. If you're allowed, come visit. Preferably when I'm not stripped naked and being played with by my master and owner." Dean rolls his eyes. "I don't call him that. Not that I don't think he'd like it, because he likes to punish—" Dean shuts his mouth. There are things his little brother doesn't need to know, although seeing Dean on his knees, waiting for Gabriel to return might have given their shared kink away anyway.

Sam gets a haunted expression and he fiddles with his tunic. "Could you _not_. And I better get back. Before Lucifer and Lord Gabriel get into a fight."

"We wouldn't want that, no. Gabriel and mood swings... not a good thing. Unless you like hurricanes."

"Not particularly, no. Take care, Dean. I'll come back as much as time and Lord Gabriel permit." Sam pulls Dean into yet another bone-crushing hug before he leaves.


	4. Waken From His Summer Dreams

But Gabriel doesn't return, not that day, nor the next. Dean learns from Samandriel that Lord Gabriel is trying to control hurricanes in the North. It's in the news too. After the hurricanes, Lord Gabriel is attending to his father's lands and to the dying summer's violent weather. It annoys Dean that he has to learn about that development through the news broadcasts as well. As usual the dust storms and the thunder pick up as fall approaches, and it means even more work for Lord Gabriel. Samandriel goes back and forth between the Sky Palace and the High Lord's estate. He comes back for a few days, carrying a message from their master that might or might not be interpreted as Lord Gabriel's attempt at begging for forgiveness. Knowing Lord Gabriel, Dean decides that he can't decide whether it's merely an explanation or an actual apology. But from the brief letter, Dean deducts that the fall storms sure are ravaging the North, so Lord Gabriel is not staying away just because of what happened between them.

Alone in the palace, or as alone as one can be, left with a Forever-Lord to-be and a full staff to run the place, Dean is relatively comfortable. Samandriel is good company, even though he is young and innocent. Lord Gabriel hasn't put any restrictions on Dean; he can come and go as he pleases as long as he is careful, leaving the palace only accompanied by his guard. The heat and the wind, however, make it more comfortable to stay in the large, cool rooms or in the beautiful garden inside the palace. Without Lord Gabriel to zap them from one location to next, leaving Dean to use the sandcars or the horses, he refrains from braving the unforgiving weather. Using days in the desert, traveling to the capital is craptastic this time of year too. It is something that Dean would happily do, though, to visit Sam. But Sam drops in whenever Lucifer has the time to take him through the void so Dean doesn't have to go anywhere to see his brother. Dean is not complaining that Sam is doing the traveling. Less fuss, more fun.

Weeks become a month and September turns into October. Still no Gabriel. Dean misses him. He doesn't want to long for him the way he does, because Lord Gabriel really is an annoying dick, but still Dean misses him. Not that he would admit it if anybody asked.

To pass time, Dean explores the library. He discovers the pleasure of sitting quietly in the atrium, listening to the birds singing, cooling his feet in one of the many fountains, his favorite hounds to keep him company. He reads and relaxes, servants— _other_ servants—providing him with ripe grapes, with delightful pies and with just about anything that Dean could want for. Sometimes Sam is there, alone or with Lord Lucifer. Although Dean isn't particularly enamored with Lord Lucifer, the man has an almost uncanny ability to make Sam look blissfully happy. For that, Dean is willing to tolerate quite a bit from the arrogant Forever-Lord. Also, Lord Lucifer actually seems to care about Dean's well-being which, considering the circumstances, is much appreciated. With enemies like the Lord of Torment and his lackeys, one cannot have enough friends.

"It's stupid," Dean tells Sam at some point. "He should come back. Because..." Dean wants to say that it is because he likes Lord Gabriel, but he stops himself. "He's okay. Occasionally. If he'd... you know, asked me for a date, if I had been free, I might have said yes. No, scratch that. I'd have said yes. There's no 'might'. Lord Gabriel is pretty hot. I wish he hadn't been such an ass." 

Sam rolls his eyes. "Lucifer is trying to make him understand what it means to ask a slave for his full consent. They're still at the point where Gabriel argues that it means that he can take whatever he wants as long as he asks nicely first. Lucifer says that Gabriel is being stubborn. He tells me that Gabriel isn't that stupid. He's just not willing to admit that he has to rethink your entire relationship."

Fiddling with the despised torc, Dean nods. "I suppose that's the prerogative of the Forever-Lords. Taking. They came here and took what they wanted. The entire planet. Might not be easy to change that line of thought"

"There wasn't much left to take." Sam shrugs. "I mean... billions of people dead. The Croatoan and the floods... It was the apocalypse if there ever was one. And they _did_ ask. The Second Great Flood would have drowned all our forefathers, had the High Lord not stepped in. At least we have a chance now. As overlords come, seeing what we had left, they aren't too bad."

"You only say that because you like Lucifer's lordly dick," Dean teases, making Sam look as if he'd just eaten a lemon. "The Forever-Lords don't do democracy well. Not that the High Lord is cruel or anything, but he still keeps people like Lord Alastair and The Lady Abaddon around."

"Yeah, and Bobby and Ellen; The Lord Castiel and The Lady Anna and—"

"Bobby and Ellen?" Dean raises his eyebrows. "You are on a first name basis with Lord Robert and Lady Ellen now, too? You certainly _are_ climbing the social ladder, little brother."

"And so are you, even like this. You have a lot of people concerned with your well-being, Dean. And being Lord Gabriel's lover... it makes you powerful in itself. Despite..."

"Despite _this_." Dean pulls at the torc. "And I'm not his lover, I'm his toy. His outrageously expensive toy, but a toy. He showed exactly what he thought of me when he left me without a word."

Sam is, however, not wrong. Even in his current state, sold, without rights, without the right to be human, Dean knows he holds power. His word is law in the palace, he can do whatever the fuck he likes, when he likes. He could probably demand a virgin sacrifice and someone would carry out his order. He is under Lord Gabriel's protection, and therefore he has only the Lord of Tempests to answer to. 

He'd still rather be free.

*

Dean's freedom is suddenly severely limited. Lord Gabriel returns one October evening, tired and thin. Dean hasn't seen him like that, ever. Maybe the storms have been more severe this season, that's at least what they say on the news.

Dusty and storm-torn, Lord Gabriel strides through the atrium with Samandriel in tow. Lord Gabriel's tense expression softens for a second as he sees Dean. "Tomorrow we'll talk. Tonight you will earn your place in my bed. Go and prepare a bath for me." Lord Gabriel stops, it's obvious that all batteries are at a low. Distractedly, he rubs the ears of the happy hounds that flock around him, all happy whines and wagging tails. He loses it all for a second, he merely stands there, raw, naked, anything but the arrogant Forever-Lord. "Please, Dean? I shouldn't ask you for... I know that. We should talk first. But... I _need_ you. _You_." 

Dean is about to whip out a scathing remark. Lord Gabriel fucking _owes_ him for the way he left, for frigging everything he did. He should tell Lord Gabriel to go fuck himself, and that the dogs are preferable to anything Lord Gabriel offers or demands. Dean has spent more time with them anyway. But Dean understands the bone-deep tiredness, the exhaustion, the need to be taken care of that he reads in Lord Gabriel's expression as easily as if he'd read it in the book he is holding. Pausing, Dean knows that he has a decision to make, one that might change the time he has left with his owner.

Either he refuses Lord Gabriel's request and their relationship (or whatever the fucked-up connection between them is) will be ruined, maybe forever, or he bites back the anger and does what Lord Gabriel asks him to do. It is a strange kind of trust that Lord Gabriel shows him, to let himself be seen like this, tired and worn down. Vulnerable. Dean truly understands Lord Gabriel's need. He has worked his ass off for a month, trying to save as many humans as possible, preventing the storms from ruining the large northern oases and his father's lands, the lands that feed millions of people. Lord Gabriel has been fighting storms out of control, and now he wants to take back that control, own it, in a way that he hasn't been able to own anything for far too long.

If their day ends like the last time, with Dean prepared to give Lord Gabriel everything he asks for, only to be left with his trust ripped apart on the cold bedroom floor, then Dean won't be in a particularly generous mood. He has a good nine months left of his servitude, and it is still a choice between the dogs or the risk of trusting Lord Gabriel one more time. Dean is not for it. If his trust is violated again, Dean is one hundred percent _done_ with Lord Gabriel. It is difficult for him, though, not to respond to Lord Gabriel's request. Dean's purpose has always been to take care of people around him. He has been a hunter and a fighter for so long that he cannot ignore Lord Gabriel's request; it's almost Pavlovian the way he reacts to it. Lord Gabriel _needs_ , and Dean knows how to give him what he needs. He has purpose when he's needed.

Yeah, it's gonna be awesome if Lord Gabriel fucks him over. Dean sighs deeply, heavy with thoughts. One more chance, then. And if Lord Gabriel violates his trust again, Dean is going to ask Lord Lucifer to take him in, because he is not taking this lying down. Dean won't even stay with the dogs. He's out. He'll play with Lord Gabriel, all right, all those interesting little games, but he won't be played a fool.

While Dean is caught up in thoughts, Lord Gabriel does nothing, he merely studies Dean as he sits on the couch, trying to find a way to do what's right for him. There is no anger, no urgency, in Lord Gabriel's eyes, just a bone-deep, tired longing.

Well, three is the magic number. Dean gets up, leaving the book at the low sofa. He hesitates for a moment, trying to figure out what Lord Gabriel would like, what would make him feel better, what could possibly bridge the rift that Lord Gabriel created between them. Dean knows with a deep certainty that this is their last chance, and despite everything that Lord Gabriel has done, Dean wants to try one last time before he ends it. He is less enamored with Lord Lucifer than he is with Lord Gabriel, and he would prefer to stay. If things get better between them, and only then. 

Dean breathes in. He has made his decision. Slowly he slides down on one knee in front of Lord Gabriel, earning a decidedly surprised look from him, as if he'd expected Dean to fight back and refuse him. "Yes, My Lord. Would you like to go to the hamam, or would you rather stay in the garden?"

Lord Gabriel reaches out and cups Dean's cheek. "Thank you. I don't deserve your grace." He hesitates, lingers, his fingers tender on Dean's skin. "My private bath. With you in it."

Dean turns his head a little, testing his power. He presses a slow kiss to Lord Gabriel's palm. "Yes, My Lord. Anything you want."

Lord Gabriel sighs. "Do not try to manipulate me, Dean. I don't take well to that kind of games. Not now. Not today. Not anymore." There is tiredness in his voice, too, as if he's hoping for something, but doesn't dare hope.

Dean looks up, head tilted as he tries to assess the change. Lord Gabriel is ashamed? He must be. Why else would he think that he's being played? "I'm not playing you, M'Lord. I want to make you feel better." It's the truth. Okay, so Dean would still like to stab the little shit in the face for his annoying behavior, but Lord Gabriel's continued well-being _is_ Dean's priority. For the moment.

"Very well." Lord Gabriel waves at Samandriel. "Help me to my shower while my servant prepares my bath."

Oh, so he's _servant_ now? Dean shrugs, watching Lord Gabriel leave. He can be a servant. He can be a toy. Come the end of the day, Lord Gabriel will need to understand that Dean is also a human being. At least Lord Gabriel needs to learn to treat him like one.

*

Dean slowly sinks into the warm, rose-scented water. He groans at the sensation; the water is almost too hot. But Lord Gabriel likes his bath that way, and tonight Dean is determined to give him what he wants. Checking that there is a supply of fruits and wine at hand, a pile of soft towels ready, Dean is ready too. He hides a bottle of lube underneath the towels; it's not that he thinks that Lord Gabriel wants to have sex with him; he has never expressed the need, but Dean would much rather be prepared than sore. Caught for a moment in thoughts, imagining Lord Gabriel over him, inside him, Dean can't help but feel a little aroused. Even in his exhaustion, The Lord Gabriel, master of tempests and storms, is very, very attractive. His power holds an allure in itself; it's like the floods that Lord Gabriel prevents: power, irresistible power, something that slowly devours and drowns. Dangerous and fascinating, both.

Having received no further orders, Dean wonders what Lord Gabriel wants from him. It's obvious that Lord Gabriel likes pliant and obedient, yet he likes Dean's sassy attitude. He'd surely have been punished severely more times than one, had Gabriel disliked it. Lord Gabriel likes _willing_. Dean looks around. He knows he looks good, and he has seen how Lord Gabriel looks at him hungrily when he's naked. Lord Gabriel might not want to fuck him, but he definitely gets off on looking at him. Dean likes that. He definitely wants Lord Gabriel to look at him as would a starving man look at a scrumptious meal. If he leaves for Lord Lucifer's palace tomorrow, at least Dean will have that to remember.

He can hear the shower in the back of the gigantic bathroom. The water is turned off. Can't be long, then.

"Perhaps what you really need is an eyeful," Dean mumbles, choosing a spot on the broad stairs that leads into the pool. Dean arranges himself so that he can still reach food and wine, leaning back against the step on his elbows, resting his head on a fluffy towel. The water sloshes lazily over his waist, barely covering his cock. Dean strokes it lazily, thinking about Lord Gabriel's golden eyes roving over him, stopping exactly where Dean's hand moves up and down his hardening dick.

He strokes himself slowly, eyes closed, not wanting to get too aroused, just _enough_. Dean leaves his cock alone for a little, in favor of pinching and plucking at his nipples, making them hard. He moans at the slight pain and twists them again, before he continues to pinch one, grabbing his cock with the free hand. 

It's perfect timing.

"Oh, _fuck_!" Lord Gabriel is standing on top of the stairs, and his hunger is flaring, predatory and wild.

Dean opens his eyes, staring at Gabriel with heavy-lidded eyes. He spreads his legs invitingly. "My Lord?"

"Remove your hands. Take the position I taught you. Kneel, legs spread, hands on your back," Gabriel demands, leaving no doubt that he means it. 

Dean moves fast, turning over, kneeling on the wide, tiled step, thighs open, his hard cock bobbing with the moving water. Lord Gabriel's commands make him want more. "Yes, My Lord."

"Seems to me that you are very eager to please," Gabriel says, his voice a low purr. "And I am pleased. You will speak to me only when asked, and you will address me politely like you just did, until otherwise told."

Dean can't stop himself from smiling. Lord Gabriel's arousal is Dean's triumph. "Yes, My Lord."

"Well, let's not hold back, then."

Dean bites his lip as not to say anything or beg for Lord Gabriel's touch. It has been months since Dean had any pleasure that didn't involve his right hand, and he is a bit on edge. Lord Gabriel is hot when he gets all bossy. Dean's cock hardens at the thought of what Lord Gabriel will do to him. It shouldn't arouse him so much, but it does; Dean can't help it.

Sliding into the water next to Dean, Lord Gabriel lets out a content sigh. "Pour me some wine."

Dean is glad he arranged everything to _his_ liking too. He only has to reach for a pitcher and a golden cup. He pours the spiced cinnamon-smelling drink for his master, holding the cup out, waiting for Lord Gabriel to take it.

"Do not spill as much as a drop, or I will punish you," Lord Gabriel threatens and lets his fingers slide over Dean's hard nipple. 

"Mm," Dean whines, shivering. He tries to keep the cup still, regretting that he filled it almost to the brim. Then Lord Gabriel pinches the other nipple, teasing it until Dean is unable to sit still. 

"Don't," Gabriel demands. "I have not given you leave to move."

"No, My Lord. I apologize." Dean whines again when Gabriel teases the nipple, Lord Gabriel's fingers are almost too cruel for it to be pleasurable. 

"And I told you not to speak until I allow it."

This time Dean doesn't say a word, but he moans when Lord Gabriel rewards him with a gentler, slower caress, fingers drawing patterns around his nipples until his moans become gasps.

"Good boy," Lord Gabriel says and stops the teasing. He turns, sitting so that he can watch Dean. "Wine." Lord Gabriel takes it and sips from the cup, his eyes never leaving Dean's body. "Touch yourself," he finally orders. "Continue until I ask you to stop."

At first it isn't that hard, on the contrary. Dean likes that Lord Gabriel likes watching him. It is arousing, confirming that Lord Gabriel might have missed him too, at least missed what they are doing together. Dean's cock is full and heavy in his hand as he strokes it, faster now. Then Dean, lust-hazed, reminds himself that he hasn't been told that he could come. Dean slows his hand as not to shoot his load at the mere thought of _not_ being allowed. 

Shit. He can't even look at Lord Gabriel now, knowing what the hungry look will do to him.

The hot water laps at Dean's balls and lazy little waves lick at his asshole. Dean can't stop himself from imagining Lord Gabriel's tongue there, licking him open. Maybe the tip of Lord Gabriel's slender cock, pressing in deep. Dean's unable to hold back a hoarse moan as he twists his fingers, pulling his own cock hard, three, four times. Dean is drowning in pleasure. He wants to come. High Lord, why can't he be allowed to come? 

"Next time we do this," Lord Gabriel says, his voice low and deep and raw, I'll tie you up, silken cords around your balls, and I'll make you jerk off until you feel like going mad, until your fingers are sore from working your delicious cock. I'll drive you crazy, I'll make you beg me for release until your throat is sore. I'll make you suffer until you are willing to do _anything_ to be allowed just a second of relief."

"Fu-uck," Dean groans, because he's willing to beg _now._

"Stop!" Lord Gabriel whips out the word, brutal in its demand. "You are not allowed to speak, Dean. Let go of your dick. Assume your position. If you are not willing to obey even the most simple order, you must be punished."

 _Yeah, punish me, fuck me, anything, just let me come!_ Dean forces his erratic breathing into a slow, calm rhythm. He was doing so good, and now he lost momentum. He had it under control, he had Lord Gabriel under control. Dean doesn't dare look at Lord Gabriel because even the slightest mistake will earn him a night on the floor and no orgasm. He turns his thoughts inwards, controlling himself instead. He focuses on his breathing, turning it into a slow, lazy flow. In. He concentrates on the scent of roses and soap. Out. The sound of waves. In. The smell of wine and cinnamon. Out. The feeling of hard tiles under his knees. In. Dean's cock aches, his body aches, but the dull pain helps. Finally he has his urge reined in and it feels pure somehow, as if fighting himself is a pleasure all on its own. 

"Look at me, Dean." Lord Gabriel's voice presents a disturbance of the silence. Reluctantly Dean leaves the calm state he has lulled himself into, opening himself to whatever delicious cruelty Lord Gabriel has in store for him. 

Gabriel's eyes are shining, golden, in fire. "God, nothing is as beautiful as you in submission." Gabriel sits up, his eyes never leaving Dean's. "And you don't even know how arousing you are to me, I don't think you grasp the magnitude of it." Licking his lips, Gabriel moves closer. "I will wait until you are ready. But I look forward to the day I can have you spread under me, willing, begging me to come with my cock buried deep inside you. Would you like to beg me, Dean?"

Dean swallows. He'd like that, yes. He suddenly realizes that it is not now, not today, not yet, but some day. Some day soon. "Please." His voice sounds strange, as if it doesn't belong to him.

"Please, what?"

Dean's words are barely audible. "Please make me come, My Lord. Please, touch me." The begging makes Dean shiver. It's so _wrong_ ; he never begs for anything. Strangely enough Dean's arousal rises again, as if the degradation of being forced to plead with his master triggers some hidden desire in him. "Please, allow me to satisfy you, My Lord," he adds, because it'd be even more arousing to have Lord Gabriel come apart with him.

"Here." Lord Gabriel snaps his fingers. "Straddle me."

Dean doesn't know what Lord Gabriel is going to do with him, but he's too immersed in anticipation and excitement to care. "Yes, My Lord." Dean slides one leg over Lord Gabriel's lap, his naked cock standing hard along Lord Gabriel's taut stomach. Lord Gabriel's strong hands cup Dean's ass, and he is pulled hard up against the lean body. Heaven, there is no way he can hold back. "Lord, please, touch me, please, fuck me. Kiss me, _do_ something," Dean babbles, his hands buried in Lord Gabriel's hair, lost in how good it feels. Lord Gabriel's need is contagious, and Dean wants too. He doesn't care what he gets, as long as Lord Gabriel makes use of him.

"Shh," Gabriel whispers. "I'll allow you to kiss me if you think you deserve it. Do it well, and _I_ might forget that _you_ just forgot yourself. Hands behind your back."

"Yes, My Lord. I'm sorry." Dean takes a deep breath, again concentrating on his breathing. Kiss. If he deserves it? Has he just been given the option to refuse? Yeah, he can do that. Lips, tongue, licking and sucking. He can do it; he might even want it. The reservations he had the first time Lord Gabriel kissed him are long gone. Dean looks up, looking Lord Gabriel in the eye, hoping it won't get him in more trouble than he already is. Cruelly, Lord Gabriel takes to teasing Dean's nipples again, and any ability to think leaves him immediately. He leans in, tilting his head a little to the left, hissing again as Lord Gabriel rubs a nipple between his fingers. Dean gasps and licks his lips, his breath ghosting over Lord Gabriel's narrow mouth. Dean can feel it curl, satisfied under the pressure of his own fuller lips. Lord Gabriel's lips part, wet and cinnamon-tasting, strangely pliant, a contrast to how Lord Gabriel's hands move over Dean's body, grabbing and pinching and exploring so harshly and delightfully hard. Experimentally Dean traces Lord Gabriel's lips with the tip of his tongue, deepening the almost-kiss when Lord Gabriel's breath catches, a small, shivering gasp. Then Dean plunges his tongue in, deep; neither gentle, nor passive, but as if he means it, as if he wants all of Lord Gabriel, everything he offers, everything Dean can have that Lord Gabriel is willing to give him.

Perhaps surprised by the force of the kiss, it takes a few seconds before Lord Gabriel picks up on the change in pace. He pulls Dean as close as he can, their cocks caught between their bodies. 

Lord Gabriel doesn't kiss. He _conquers_. With a hand around the nape of Dean's neck, Gabriel kisses them both into breathlessness, tongue-fucking Dean's mouth, making him moan and gasp and need. Giving as good as he gets, Dean forces Lord Gabriel's pleasure, eliciting the most delightful, raw moans from him as he makes their kiss a battlefield, pleasure their weapon. Dean forgets himself again, clawing at Lord Gabriel's back, almost violently. Lord Gabriel arches away from the attack, gulping down a few helpings of air as he moans at the sensation of nails trailing down his skin. This time it's Lord Gabriel who is rattled. 

"Fuck!" he gasps, his fingers tense around Dean's neck. Then Dean is kissed again, just as harshly, just as wonderfully. This time, Lord Gabriel has new ideas. He wraps his hand around Dean's hard dick, pausing, whispering a cinnamon-tasting, "You are allowed to come," into Dean's mouth. 

It takes exactly ten harsh strokes before Dean cries out his orgasm, mewling little moans swallowed down by Lord Gabriel. Dean is kissed over and over as he comes hard, blissfully hovering in a state of absolute satisfaction. Still in a state of bliss, he is pulled up from the pool, swaying dizzily as Lord Gabriel dries him off with one of the gigantic towels. 

"Thank you, My Lord," Dean whispers, holding on to the relaxed, lazy state he's in. Lord Gabriel doesn't answer. He only presses a kiss to Dean's cheek and carries him to bed. Dean is awake enough to decide that he likes being manhandled. 

Dean doesn't protest when Lord Gabriel ties his hands to the bed posts. He doesn't protest when Lord Gabriel pinches and bites and kisses and licks, everywhere he can reach. Dean lets himself float on the stream of constant and varied sensations. Lord Gabriel is like a spring tempest, heated and cold and harsh and soft, and Dean enjoys it; he enjoys it more than he thought possible. He follows Lord Gabriel's hands, moving with them as they invoke a storm of sensations on his body. Again Lord Gabriel tweaks and pulls Dean's nipples, forcing him up from the bed as far as the ropes allow him. He sinks into the wetness of Lord Gabriel's warm, hot kisses, drowning in pleasure and gasping when he comes up for air. He cries out, begging wordlessly for more when Lord Gabriel teases and tortures his slit with tongue and nails. He floats on the upstream of the orgasm that Lord Gabriel pries from him with lips and tongue wrapped around his cock, and he sighs, moans, as he comes again, offering Lord Gabriel his full submission, forgetting for a while that he should be angry with the asshole whose property he is.

Lord Gabriel's slow and calming caresses make it difficult to whip up much rage. Dean can barely manage a few approving grunts. At some point Lord Gabriel dissolves the ropes and Dean, spent and half-asleep, is pulled into a warm embrace. There are more kisses, come-tinged and a little sticky, but that's all right. 

"I missed you, My Lord," Dean murmurs, his defenses down. He really missed Lord Gabriel, and maybe it is enough to forgive him so that they can start over. "Even though you're the biggest asshole in the universe," Dean adds for good measure.

"Missed you too," Lord Gabriel says. "I shouldn't have left you like I did. I'm truly sorry, Dean. You did everything I asked of you, and I treated you badly. Again. A different bad, but I did. It doesn't justify what I did, but I was afraid that I had fucked things up, afraid I'd lose you, so I took the cowardly route and ran. You're clearly not the only one who needs to be taught. According to Lucifer, I might not have a lot to learn about humans in general, but I have a lot to learn about you. It took me a while to understand that he was right." Gabriel kisses Dean again, gently this time. "If you still want me, I'd be honored if you'll help teach me."

Oh, a new and improved Lord Gabriel? 

Dean knows he should use more time. He should postpone his decision until he isn't dazed and basking in the afterglow of a perfect orgasm. Dean never was one for too much thinking, though. "I do want you," he admits. "But if you fuck me over again, _you_ are going to the dogs."

Lord Gabriel lights up, smiling. "Thank Heaven."

"I mean it, My Lord. If you ever pull this shit on me again, I'm moving in with Sam and Lord Lucifer, and you can wipe your ass with what you have left of contracts and dollars. There will be no dogs, no nothing. I'm out, if you think you can treat me like I have no feelings. Are we clear? You're not leaving me hanging again, for any reason."

"I missed... I missed what we had before I left. The good parts. Next time I'm taking you with me if you want."

Dean smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He likes that Lord Gabriel missed him as well. "Afraid someone is going to steal your toy while you're away, M'Lord?"

"That's not what it's about," Lord Gabriel says and kisses Dean again. "You're not my toy. I'd like you to... " Lord Gabriel pulls Dean into his arms again. "When we are not playing, I would like you to drop the title and the formality. I'd like you to call me Gabriel."

That one is new, and Dean doesn't mind the change. He is sure that _Gabriel_ has changed, reconsidered their relationship. Dean can live with that. If their playtime is going to be this good, then he'll be Gabriel's toy when it suits them both. "Sometimes I might want to be your plaything," Dean contradicts, yawning as he gives into the drowsiness of the afterglow. "Sometimes I want you to take everything you want."

*

The next morning Dean knows immediately that things between them have changed. It is a new and improved Gabriel he has to deal with. Samandriel is gone, and there are no servants, not any that Dean can see from his limited view, comforter pulled over his head. The room is pleasantly warm: there's a fire in the fireplace warding them against the storm outside. It's a minor one, because Gabriel is still snuggled up against Dean's side, awake, stroking his arm gently.

"You want coffee?" 

"Not yet." Dean curls a finger, wanting to lure Gabriel closer. Dean cannot help it, he has to test their newfound favorite pastime: kissing. He pulls Gabriel into his arms. It takes a while before he's satisfied and thoroughly kissed. Gabriel takes it, morning breath and all. "Now I want coffee," Dean says, pleasantly relaxed. He'd be surprised if Gabriel wants to punish him for his insolence right away. 

"But that's not how it works any longer," Gabriel says, demonstrating clearly that he's been poking around in Dean's mind, in the outskirts of his thoughts, when he had his tongue poking into Dean's mouth. "I'm punishing you because _you_ want it."

"Told you to stay out, or I am going to punish _you_ ," Dean growls and kisses Gabriel again, just so he knows he can't get away with it. When he let go, Gabriel just laughs at him.

"You were thinking too loudly. I wouldn't read your mind without your permission." 

Gabriel turns over, gets up on his knees and takes a tray from the bedside table. Of course he hasn't made the breakfast himself, but he serves it. He hands Dean his coffee and a plate with bacon and eggs and sausages, just like Dean likes it. He appreciates the rare fruits, sure, but being served greasy goodness in bed is heaven.

After breakfast there are more kisses, and more snuggling. It feels so... normal. Not that Dean would know; he's never had a real relationship with anyone but Lisa, and she doesn't count. Lisa is a saint, unreal like a mirage, someone far too good for him. Still Dean didn't love her. He had six months with her, and none of their mornings together were as good as this one, with Gabriel.

"Gabriel," Dean says, tryingly, for the first time. 

"Yeah?"

"Testing," Dean grins, teasing. "Gabe."

"Don't test my patience, _Deano_. Call me Gabe again, and I won't guarantee that you will emerge unscathed."

"Gabe, Gabe, Gabe." Dean's smirk is wide.

He finds himself on his back, Gabriel's immense strength put to use.

And this time there is giggling and laughing and a fight that threatens to ruin the bed. Dean's ass has a few red marks where Gabriel's, _Gabe's_ , hand landed when the Lord of Tempest carried out a brief and hot punishment in return for Dean's cocky behavior. Gabriel's hair is a mess and he has a few marks on the neck where Dean got an attack in, sucking the skin purple with need. The sheets are wet with come and they're both too exhausted to care.

Later, Gabriel ties Dean up, wrists carefully wrapped in soft ropes; they held the curtains in place before. And Gabriel shows Dean how it is to be worshiped, licked, teased, every inch of him kissed and bitten and tasted. Finally Dean comes in Gabriel's mouth, a long, drawn-out orgasm. But Dean can't help it, Heaven, he can't help it. He likes what Gabriel does to him, he likes to be tied up and used and owned. He moans out his orgasm, another one, little pants and cries, before he breathes a, "Please, My Lord!" urging Gabriel to finish them both off. Dean comes, moaning his thanks, telling Gabriel over and over that he belongs to him, promising him that things are good between them. 

No, Dean is not going to give Gabriel up if he can have this much pleasure for the rest of his time as _Lord_ Gabriel's sex toy. As Gabriel's companion.

The next couple of days Dean comes to believe that Gabriel really is determined to change. There is an ease to the way they are together that hasn't been there before. The posturing and the confrontational testing are gone, replaced by laughter and caresses. There is breakfast in bed, snuggling and kissing, all the little things that lovers do. 

Gabriel is recovering from his ordeal with the storms. Soon Gabriel returns to his library after breakfast, but when he asks Dean to join him it is not so that Gabriel can dispose of his strawberries in an entertaining way, enjoying having Dean on his knees. Not any longer.

Instead he urges Dean to read. Strategy, history, annals of the Forever-Lords, languages. It looks incredibly like the education that Dean never had. A GED can only get one so far; Dean has learned that the hard way. But the vast library and the many rare, old tomes and books have Dean busy for hours as he throws himself into the task of educating himself. Sometimes he's interrupted by Gabriel who wants his opinion on this or that, mostly topics related to humans and human politics. 

Dean feels valued. He feels valued, too, when Gabriel can't keep his hand off him, or his lips. 

And when the shadows get longer and the day dies, the night blooms, dark and inviting, encouraging dark deeds and passionate pleasures, Dean feels valued as well. Because then Gabriel cups his cheek gently, looking him in the eyes, kissing him again, kisses him breathless before he asks the question: "Do you want to play tonight?"

Dean always says yes.

*

As the weeks pass by, turning into months, Dean's improved relationship with Gabriel also allows him to have more guests, not that Gabriel has kept them from him as such. Sam visits regularly, popping in, literally, because Sam is now moving in the void by himself. Dean hasn't asked how he does it, but Lucifer might be rubbing off on him. Maybe the Forever-Lords' magic and powers aren't something they are born with but are taught? Dean doesn't know, all he knows is that Sam is changing. And mastering the void, surprisingly.

Dean doesn't want to ask or talk about it; because asking questions about Sam's change might lead to talking about other things that Dean doesn't want to talk about. Opening that particular box, letting Sam take a peek inside, will mean that one of them has to change their name to Pandora. No, he doesn't want to talk about it, any of it. If his beloved brother picks up a few magic tricks, Dean's fine with it as long as his Sammy is happy. 

*

It's a pleasant midwinter day. Dean is sitting in the living room, waiting for Gabriel to return home when Samandriel opens the door without knocking. 

"Dean, there is a visitor. Do you wish to receive him?" Samandriel is always polite, but today he is very formal. "In that case, Mr Benny Lafitte wishes to call."

"Benny?" Dean is up and almost at the door before he remembers that he is not supposed to open doors or let in visitors. He's no longer supposed to sit on the couch, wearing expensive clothes, looking all decorative, but he _is_ expected to let the staff do the work they are paid to do. Only today Dean is not Dean because he has a date with The Lord Gabriel, owner of expensive boytoys. So Dean is a toy, a dressed-up, sweet-smelling toy, because he had plans, delicious, naughty plans. Today he was supposed to be a piece of beautiful home decor, awaiting Lord Gabriel's return from the High Lord's Council. Lord Gabriel will not be pleased, but Gabriel sure will understand that they have to postpone their plans in favor of Dean spending time with a good and true friend.

Dean shrugs off the elaborate silk robe he's been wearing. The train will just cause him problems. His tunic is a bit revealing, but it's Benny, so Dean doesn't care. He hasn't seen Benny since he lost to him in the Cage. "Yes, please. Let him in. And could you get the servants to fetch us some beer? Water. And maybe some fries?" It's a lot to ask; potatoes are rare, almost impossible to get. Unless one is a Forever-Lord with unlimited resources, that is. Only after having given the order, Dean remembers that Benny is able to purchase all these delicacies now, all by himself. Doesn't change anything. Only the best is good enough for Dean's friends and now that he finally can give them the best, he certainly will.

Samandriel nods. "You are on friendly terms with Mr Lafitte?" he asks quietly. "I thought you'd— you'd hate him."

Dean shrugs. "If I had won, I'd be looking after Benny. Now he's looking after Sam and me. Might not be the norm, but we're friends. I like him — outside the Cage, that is. Inside it? You wouldn't want for your worst enemy to go up against Benny Lafitte, Samandriel." Dean shakes his head. Benny is fierce. "But it was a game. There is one winner. It wasn't me, but it could have been. We both know that, Benny and me."

Samandriel nods. He disappears to fulfill Dean's wishes. For a decorative slave-toy, Dean can't complain about the level of luxury. Or about the obedience of the household. The world is backwards. Samandriel is the son of another Forever-Lord, and as soon as his time as a squire is over, he'll be The Lord Something... sun or Sundays or light. Something nice. And still he serves Dean as if he was his servant. Always polite, sometimes formal. 

The little lordling returns a few minutes later with Benny.

Dean gives up his attempt to be handsome and quiet and well-behaved. He is up and halfway crushed to death by one of Benny's warm bear-hugs. "Benny!" Dean growls. "You fucker. Why didn't you come before?" Dean's face hurt from the wide smile. He refuses to acknowledge the small tears of joy that burn in the corners of his eyes.

"I'm not the one hiding in the Sky Palace. Your man, the Lord of Tempest, isn't exactly encouraging visits, not with five full days of travel through that hell out there, and that is if you hit a good streak of weather. It's either flooded or burning or icy as fuck. One could get the notion he's actually trying to keep you to himself." Benny loosens his grip and takes a step back. "No wonder, the way you look. I'd so be interested if I were into men. A bit flimsy, though, what with all the embroideries." Benny pulls at the tunic's sleeve. "Andrea could use it as a tablecloth for her new mahogany dining table."

"Are you calling me girly?" Dean laughs. "Because if you do, I'll be happy to give you a girly right hook, Meg Masters style. She's damned girly if you ask me." Nobody in their right mind messes with Miss Meg. Any Second who went through what Dean is going through is tougher than boiled leather. As Dean recalls it, Meg Masters was under Lucifer's protection and came out on the other side whole and ready to take over the Cage again as the referee.

"Heaven, no! No Meg! We've had enough of that." Benny laughs and his eyes crinkle at the corners; he looks happy. "How are you, Dean? I am so relieved that I didn't have to go to the Blood Palace to visit your remains. Lord Alastair is downright scary, not that I don't think we could take him down if we wanted to. I know we could. We didn't end up in the Cage, fighting each other because we look pretty."

"I look pretty," Dean says. "You, on the other hand..." Dean smirks and gives Benny another hug. "I think I'm the most relieved of the two of us; I mean, that I'm not reduced to being remains." Dean looks around for one of the servants. "You want anything? Beer? Water? It's real water. Icelandic. There's fruit too. Strawberries."

"I thought you'd gained a few pounds; he's not starving you, then, Lord Gabriel?"

"Nah, that's an improvement, real food and a lot of it." Everything is an improvement these days, apart from Dean's status. "He's... decent," Dean admits, picking at the despised torc. "I like him. I'm not treated like his slave."

Benny chooses water and mango and fries, and they walk through the palace, to the gardens, to sit there with their refreshments. It truly is a beautiful place. Gabriel likes the rare and unexpected and the gardens are filled with strange birds and flowers. There are roses in the most unlikely colors, created by Gabriel's gardeners. Although it is cold outside, winter's fingers clutching at the castle, the garden is pleasant. Glass roofs and the small, autonomous weather system that Gabriel has made for the glasshouse make the place an all-year-round spot to sit or walk.

"I thought _I_ bought a nice house." Benny leans back on the couch, head resting on one hand. He caresses the green brocade upholstery with awe. "There's an atrium where Andrea and the kids can sit or play. There's a boat house and a workshop for Andrea; she's finally able to build the boats she wanted to build but never could afford. Luxury is not that shiny, though, when one's best friend is caged like a bird because of the prize money that we're living off is the money that paid for him."

"Don't." Dean doesn't want to hear it. "We knew it could come to this, brother. We both knew it was likely after the first few rounds. We were stronger, more ruthless. Better than the rest. At least I made you a very rich man. I'm not unhappy with Gabriel, I'm unhappy that I'm not free. I'm not sure any of the other fighters would have offered me the safety you did, neither would they have taken care of Sam like you did."

"As you would have taken care of Andrea and Elizabeth and the kids." Benny reaches out, his giant fist warm and strong and calloused around Dean's wrist. "We're friends."

"But no one in their right mind would have paid seventy million dollars for _you_." Dean points at Benny, wiggling his finger. "You ain't got the charm."

"I suppose." Benny's teeth flash white when he smiles. "Either seventy million dollars mean little to Lord Gabriel, or he really wanted your charm that bad."

"What do you think? Look at me. I'm totally hot, dude!" Looking down his nose at Benny, indicating with a hand his own silk-clad body Dean adds, "Also, you'd have ruined the tunic in five seconds flat."

A few serving girls flutter around them, colorful and small, like the birds in the trees. A golden table is filled with a selection of fruits and other delicacies. A boy pours them iced water in tall goblets, before they are left alone again.

Dean picks up a small silver fork. Four months ago he wouldn't have known which fork to use for the various meals and types of food. There was a time when a fork was a fork. He had one, and Sam had one. Dean doesn't have to ask his guests to bring their own any longer. 

"And you are sure Lord Gabriel treats you well?" Benny asks again, a slice of mango in one hand, the fork in the other, as if he's struggling to connect the two. It is not the case, Dean is sure. Benny Lafitte was brought up a gentleman, despite his poor circumstances. Benny surely knows more about the use of cutlery than Dean does. A hummingbird buzzes around them, lured in by the scent of ripe fruit. Tryingly it hovers over the table. Maybe it's considering modes of attack. "I had to promise Sam that I'd charge in and free you if he or I suspected that you weren't content here. Sam doesn't trust your little lord."

"I'm fine. He does treat me well." Dean can't stop himself from smiling. "He gives me what I want. Mostly." He can think of a thing or two he'd like Gabriel to give him. Benny does not want to know about those.

"Mostly?" Benny snatches another piece of mango from under the inquisitive hummingbird. "If there's anything I—"

"I don't think Andrea will approve," Dean says, unable to stop himself from smirking. Gabriel has made no attempts to fuck him, and Dean is beginning to miss it. He likes a cock up his ass, and Gabriel has a very nice cock. "And you don't swing that way."

Benny is huge and dangerous, but there are times when he is so adorable that Dean wants to hug him. "You're cute when you blush."

Benny shifts on the couch, uncomfortable. "You are _with_ him? Sam said something that might be interpreted in that direction. If I am wrong, I apologize."

"Why would you apologize for that? I am with him, and willingly." Dean hasn't yet admitted how taken he is with Gabriel, not to anyone. Not even to himself; it is as if the idea in itself makes Dean wince. With Benny, Dean voices his concern and his need for the first time. They are friends, and Dean would tell Benny things that he would never speak of to anyone else, not even Sam. "I might have come to like him," Dean says. It sounds right, but not quite. "I might have come to like him a little bit too much."

It's a terrible realization. Of course Dean likes Lord Gabriel; otherwise he'd gone to Lord Lucifer or the hounds. Only they are separated by class, by fortune, by status. Most of all they are separated by the abyss that lies between them: Dean is not free to choose, and Gabriel cannot give him his freedom back, not without great risk. But that Dean has reached a point where he no longer is in control of his feelings for Gabriel... _that_ is disconcerting.

Benny's eyes twinkle. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Of course it is. It's not like you and your wife. I have no will of my own—"

"That is not true." Benny contradicts. "Anyone who knows you knows that it is not true."

No. It is not true. Gabriel has given Dean back his _will_. The High Lord still holds his _freedom_. Dean watches the little birds for some time. Like him, they are caught under the glass roof, away from the storms and the harsh weather. They are protected and fed, drawn in by the honeyed trap of ripe fruits. That is what he is now. A hummingbird. "No, it is more than that. I wish I had my life back. It would have been different. With Gabriel, I mean. I'd..." Dean's voice fades. He doesn't know what he would have done if he had ever had the chance with a man like Gabriel outside the gilded cage he's living in. All he knows is that right now he would happily swap diamond-encrusted luxury for his shitty little apartment, eating shitty food every day. Dean would swap everything for the possibility to be with Gabriel as the man he was before.

Dean simply wants his life back.


	5. As From an Unextinguished Hearth

"Dean?"

Gabriel walks through their bedroom, expecting to see Dean kneeling on the Persian carpet, ready to please him. Cutting the council with his father short, Gabriel has been able to think of little but his lover, waiting for him. Not even Lord Crowley and The Lady Ruby have been able to anger him like they usually do because the mere thought of a kneeling, obedient Dean has been more than enough to keep Gabriel's mind occupied.

The bedroom is empty and so is the living room and the en-suite bathroom. Gabriel frowns. Either Dean is teasing him, expecting the delicious repercussions that inevitably will be the result of Dean's little game of hide and seek. Or something is wrong.

"Samandriel!"

Samandriel is through the void instantly and at Gabriel's side.

"Dean is in the library, My Lord. He's been in there since Mr Lafitte left earlier today. He sent me away." Samandriel bows slightly, and the formal politeness makes it clear to Gabriel that something _is_ wrong. It's not his recurring fear of losing Dean that is messing with him this time. 

Gabriel throws his traveling robe in a chair, not waiting to let Samandriel help him undress. "How bad is it?"

"I'm not sure, My Lord. It is no fault of Mr Lafitte; they separated on good terms. Mr Lafitte stayed almost all day." Samandriel fetches a bowl of hot water and a washcloth so that Gabriel can freshen up.

"What are you trying to say, Samandriel?" Gabriel splashes some of the rose-scented water on his face, wiping it off with the warm towel.

"Mr Lafitte is a free man. A human. Dean... is not. Maybe he did not like the reminder."

Gabriel hands the towel to Samandriel. "Sometimes you're too clever for your own good." Gabriel's worry doesn't evaporate. Dean's status as a thing without rights is the core of the problem, and it's a problem that Gabriel can't solve. Dean is both human and not. Nothing, bar a revolution and a takeover of the entire kingdom can change it. Gabriel had thought that Dean had come to terms with his year of servitude, at least partly. Clearly not. Gabriel thinks he understands why Dean reacts so strongly. If the situation hadn't had the potential of turning into disaster, Gabriel would have been proud of his own new and improved human-fu. Gabriel is sure that Dean hasn't taken lightly to have his lack of humanity shoved in his face by Benny Lafitte, the selfsame human who took it from him. Gabriel pats Samandriel on the shoulder. "Stay close. I might need you. Leave us alone until I tell you otherwise."

"Should I alert Lord Lucifer and Mr Winchester, M'Lord?"

Should he? Both Lucifer and Sam have been helpful before. If Lucifer hadn't pointed Gabriel in the right direction, Dean would have been in the basement with the dogs, and so would Gabriel's hope that one day Dean would be his. He decides against it. Samandriel can get them later if things look like they're going to hell in a hand basket. 

"No. Thanks. I need to sort this out myself."

It has to end, his dependence on Lucifer. Gabriel can't come running to his big brother the misanthropist for help with his human every time Dean frowns. Gabriel has learned _his_ lesson: he can't teach Dean lessons—except for the sexy ones, the ones they both enjoy. Outside bed, Gabriel's attempted lessons only serve to push Dean further away. He can order Dean around all he likes when they play, but when they are not in bed, bossing Dean around is the fastest way to get on Dean's bad side. Dean, too, has a side that is made up of uncontrollable hurricanes and unpredictable tempests. 

Gabriel is allergic to fall-outs; he's had enough of those. Centuries without his brothers, millennia with their father gone, a few months with Dean on the verge of leaving. These periods have been empty pieces of time that Gabriel cannot stand. No more. So he stops himself from running to Dean immediately, instead calming himself enough to think about what Dean needs and why. If what Samandriel says is true, Benny Lafitte's appearance has disturbed Dean's equilibrium. Gabriel's duty to Dean is to help him get it back, to help him find his footing. Dean has been reminded that he is not human, that he has no rights. The only safe piece of ground that Dean has been allowed is his bond to family, to Sam. Dean's love and care for Sam is what keeps Dean standing through the storm that his life has become. Without it he'd been nothing but a leaf, whirled around aimlessly in a hurricane. Dean only feels loved when he is allowed to care for others, and Gabriel thinks that it has to change. Taking Dean's humanity away from him equals taking love away from him, or so is Gabriel's theory. Without love and care, Dean believes that he is worth nothing. Gabriel's task is to make Dean feel human again, guiding Dean into taking control of his own life, his own wishes, no matter what those wishes are. 

Maybe it is Gabriel's turn to give. Maybe it is time to untie bonds, and to make new ones. Maybe it is time to let Dean tie some of them?

Maybe it is time to be selfless, to hand Dean control, real control, no holds barred, no conditions added.

Gabriel takes a deep breath and walks out of his chambers, down winter-cold stairs and corridors to the library.

One of his guards steps forward, ready to open the huge doors, but Gabriel waves him off with a shake of his head.

The doorknob is cold under his hand. Gabriel lets it rest there for seconds. He hesitates, his usual confidence deserting him. Then he lets one door swing open, slowly. If Dean is angry, he is like an animal trapped in a corner, and Gabriel knows his beloved hounds well enough to know how an angry and scared animal reacts. Again, Gabriel takes a calming breath. He does not want to create conflict by his mere presence.

"Dean?" Gabriel steps inside. The curtains are closed and the library is dark. The only light is the fading sun's spindly fingers that pull at the heavy fabric, the golden light from the fire in the fireplace. The room smells acridly of firewood and anger.

"Go away." A bundle of blankets in one of the Chesterfields moves. 

At least Dean is alive and kicking. Talking. Gabriel forces down _his_ anger. He's used to Dean's rudeness by now, but there are times when it hits him harder than others. This is one of them. _What would Lucifer do?_ Gabriel asks himself. _Probably start yet another apocalypse._ Yeah, unless it had been his beloved Sam who'd talked to him that way. Then Lucifer would be on his knees, begging for Sam's forgiveness for any slight imaginable. And probably a few unimaginable, just to be on the safe side.

All right, then.

"I'm sorry," Gabriel says. "Can I get you anything?"

"Fuck. Off."

Obviously not.

There is a rustle of fabric and the sharp creak of dry leather as Dean shifts. He disentangles himself from the blankets and sits up, eyes on Gabriel. "I told you to go away. Now go."

Dean's eyes are dead, cold, and the sight of that icy, distant stare makes Gabriel freeze on the spot. There really is something wrong, something terribly wrong. Gabriel uses a few seconds to consider whether he might have fucked things up again unknowingly; one way or another stepped in it, but he can't for the love of the High Lord see that he has done anything that makes him deserve that Arctic disdain. It _has_ to be the meeting with Benny, Gabriel is sure of it. On the other hand, he could be wrong; Gabriel has learned more than one valuable lesson from his relationship with Dean Winchester, and one of them is that in Dean's eyes Lord Gabriel of the Sky Palace is by no means flawless and neither are his modes of communication with humans. At least Gabriel knows by now that he sucks at understanding humans unless it is to make merry with them and use them as an outlet for his mischief. Close relations with humans, apart from Bobby and Ellen... not really Gabriel's forte.

As usual, any change in Dean's attitude towards him makes Gabriel suspicious. He has so little time to convince Dean that his home is here, with him. Now Gabriel can almost feel Dean slipping away, sand between his fingers. Dean's thoughts are elsewhere, outside the confines of his relationship with Gabriel. 

Gabriel walks closer, determined to ease Dean's distress. He gets down on one knee in front of the chair, not attempting to touch Dean. "I'll go. Just tell me if you are all right first," he says, keeping worry out of his words. He doesn't offer his help again; Dean doesn't like it. Gabriel has only begun to understand how important autonomy is to Dean, and implying that Dean needs help is to imply that Dean is helpless. 

"I don't care," Dean growls. "You should let _me_ go."

Gabriel's heart takes a turn for the worse. It is possible that it has stopped. It feels that way, cold and silent. Gabriel forces down a deep breath, then another, to think more clearly. "You are free to go anytime you want to go." He doesn't argue. It is too dangerous. He needs to tread carefully, but the floor has suddenly turned into eggshells. If he doesn't dare loosen the hold he has on Dean _now_ , right this instant, Dean will think of nothing but freedom when the torc opens and he truly is free to go. "Do you want me to call for a sandcar?" Gabriel asks, fighting his need to keep Dean locked up, under his control. He needs to let go to keep what he has. "I'll ask the driver to take you anywhere you want."

A thundercloud of anger and tension seems to hover invisibly over Dean's head. It is not one of Gabriel's doing. "No."

"Sam would be happy to have you stay with Lucifer," Gabriel offers, hating each word as he forms them. They taste like defeat. "I can take off your torc."

Dean is so tense that the thundercloud might take physical form any moment. "No!" He squints, as if to keep pain and frustration inside. "No." He clenches and loosens his fists, as if he's trying to find an outlet for his distress.

"Look at me, please, Dean." 

The icy glare is back. "You _want_ me to leave?"

"No. I want you to stay, as long as you like. But—" Gabriel takes another deep breath, refusing to let his abandonment issues get the better of him. "I have been very clear from the start about what I want, but I think that I should... I will not hold you here against your will. I'll remove the torc if you want it, I'll let you go anywhere you want to go; you're entitled to your own decisions. Free will. I beg you, though, to keep in mind the danger you'll be in." The ice in Dean's eyes thaws a bit and Gabriel risks a gentle stroke of Dean's hand. "If it was up to me, I'd never let you go. I would like you to stay, Dean. Never doubt that. I would like you to stay with me indefinitely. Unfortunately it isn't up to me. I want you, but I _will_ set you free if that is your wish. Now." 

There. He said it.

Dean looks surprised; maybe it is what pulls him out of his wonky little fortress of anger and blankets. "I want the life Benny has." The ghost of a smile tells Gabriel that Dean knows very well that it is impossible. For six more months it is impossible.

"And I want a pony." Gabriel returns the small smile. "As for giving you your life back, I'm good, but I'm not that good. I tried today, at the council. We tried, Lucifer and I. Again. To stop the buying and selling of Seconds, I mean. As usual Crowley's and Alastair's faction was against outlawing the Cage auctions." Gabriel masks his inadequacy and his insecurity with a smile. "I could kill Benny Lafitte for you if that helps, but I don't think that you'd appreciate the effort."

"No."

"So do you want to leave or not?" Gabriel hates to press on. It has to be done.

"No."

"Thank you for being so incredibly open and willing to elaborate on your wishes for your immediate future," Gabriel says. He shakes his head before he sends Dean a pair of puppy eyes. "Dean, please tell me what you need, anything, and I'll give it to you if it's in my power to—"

Dean looks up. This time he stares at Gabriel with a challenge in his eyes. "You know what I need."

Gabriel blinks. Dean cannot possibly mean... 

"You said 'anything'," Dean argues testily. "Teach me."

That is not how they play. Gabriel's concern is overshadowed, however, by relief. Dean is not going to leave. "You want me to teach you a lesson? Why?" 

"Because I told you I need it." Dean is unrelenting. "You know what I want."

Oh, yeah, Gabriel does. He is not sure he should give it to Dean, though. Their playtime is not an outlet for frustration and anger. But Dean is rattled, the firm foothold he seemed to have found has been removed from under his feet, Lafitte's visit probably the last straw on the proverbial camel's back. Gabriel doesn't want to offend Dean by questioning his decision, diminish it with a question like _are you sure?_ Of course Dean is sure; although they do not entertain long conversations about feelings and braid each other's hair, Dean is usually able to voice his concerns openly, if at times rudely. If submission helps Dean to relax and feel better, Gabriel will give Dean what he asks for. Dean is frustrated, not out of his mind. It might be easier for Dean to deal with circumstances he cannot change from within the room that they create for him when he submits. 

"It is not going to be pleasant for you," Gabriel says. "You need to be put in your place."

Dean nods. "I know. Are you going to? Put me in my place, I mean?"

Gabriel takes a moment to reach for the need inside himself, the need that makes him want to see Dean kneeling and begging for mercy, begging to be his. It matters that Dean needs punishment and the calm that follows it. Gabriel needs time to decide what kind of punishment will bring Dean both relief and pleasure, help him find his equilibrium. Gabriel takes a quick decision. Dean cannot be allowed to think. Thinking too much is what brought him distress in the first place. Dean needs action; he needs to work out some of that pent-up frustration to be able to regain his senses. 

Gabriel's pleasure is secondary, unimportant. For now Dean's wishes are Gabriel's law. Without warning, Gabriel is up from the floor. He strikes out. He grabs a handful of Dean's hair, pulling his head back. "Look at me," Gabriel demands and pulls Dean's hair again. "You will get up from that chair. Put the blankets away, then undress. You may stand when you are done. Straight back, hands behind it, eyes averted. Understood?"

"Yes, My Lord." Dean lets out a shaky breath, a part of the nervous tension leaving with it. "Thank you, My Lord."

Gabriel takes the chair that Dean has been sitting in. "You will undress in front of me, slowly, show me how obedient you are," Gabriel orders, crossing his legs and waits for Dean to execute his orders. Even like this, frustrated and jittery, Dean is worth watching. The efficiency in his movements, the elegance. The way the muscles move under his skin, skin that Gabriel wants to lick and kiss and mark. Gabriel likes marks. He likes when Dean sucks little pink and purple ovals into his skin; he likes when Dean's shoulders bear half-moon-shaped, all-too-soon-disappearing ridges where Gabriel's teeth marked his flesh. 

Dean finally stands naked in front of him, unashamed of his body and his anger. Gabriel enjoys the perfection of Dean's neck, bent in the exact right angle. He cherishes the beauty of the chest, stretched wide as Dean puts his hands behind his back in a perfect posture. Dean's nipples are peaking, reacting to the cool lick of the room's slight draft. 

They would look prettier if they were adorned with rings, Gabriel decides, rings that he could play with, play Dean like an instrument, make him moan in deep pleasure. 

Gabriel moans too. Heaven, he'd like his marks on Dean. Gabriel spreads his legs wide and pulls up his tunic. Dean needs to be put to work. "Kneel." The order is sharper than a knife. 

Dean obeys immediately, as if it is what he has been waiting for. Kneeling on the thin rug, Dean spreads his legs, giving Gabriel a view to his hardening cock as he takes his position.

"Suck me off." Gabriel certainly wants to come in Dean's mouth, but again, it is not important right now. It is important that Dean learns that he is by no means powerless. Dean's strength is immense: with a kiss or a shy glance or the seductive move of a shoulder, he kills Gabriel over and over, makes Gabriel want fall on his knees to satisfy Dean in any way he can. To worship him. That is the kind of power that Dean holds. 

Kings and emperors have forsaken their kingdoms for love and desire. With Dean on his knees, the lush lips sliding along Gabriel's cock, Gabriel is Anthony, Lancelot, Lord Nelson. He is Pyramus; he is Paris infatuated with this male equivalent of Helen, the most beautiful and bright creature in the universe. Without the bloodied swords and the murders, evidently.

Dean doesn't hesitate. He leans forward, placing yet another few light licks over the head of Gabriel's dick before he swallows him down, throat working around it. The wonderful pressure and heat is too good, making Gabriel's pleasure spike. He grabs the back of Dean's head, holding him there, between breathing and choking, until Dean fights for air. "Slow," Gabriel demands. "You're in no hurry, Dean. Or do I need to remind you that you are mine to command?"

"No, My Lord," Dean gasps when Gabriel releases him, his voice rough. "Forgive me."

"Again," Gabriel says. "And play with your nipples." 

Gabriel doesn't want to sink too deep into pleasure. He wants Dean to become aroused, so aroused that he forgets for a little the anger and the longing for a life that will only be his again in half a year. Monitoring Dean's every movement, Gabriel waits, biting his lip and clenching his fists in defense against Dean's experienced tongue. Fuck, it's good! Dean groans, moaning around Gabriel's cock as he pinches his own nipples, pulling them. 

Gabriel leans down and caresses one peaked nipple. "They would look beautiful if they were pierced," Gabriel murmurs, trying not to moan. He pinches the nipple, watching Dean squirm and shift under his hand, trying not to let go of Gabriel's cock as he presses his chest against Gabriel's hand. "You'd like that?"

Dean makes the most delicious sounds, at least confirming that the thought arouses him. Good. Dean's attention is on the game now, not on what happened earlier. It allows Gabriel wider borders to play within. He lets Dean suck his dick a bit longer, thrusting shallowly into Dean's mouth. It is perfection to watch Dean's lips curl around hardened flesh, and Gabriel has to keep himself in line. He won't come, not yet, not until Dean is satisfied and content. 

"Stop." Dean freezes, his movements stopping immediately. "Take your position," Gabriel demands, leaving Dean no time to argue. Dean reacts without hesitation. "You look perfect," Gabriel says, enjoying the sight of Dean's wet lips, of his hard cock, of his hard nipples. "Good." Calmly Gabriel covers himself, pretending that he is ignoring Dean. Dean is deep enough into their play now, and Gabriel wants him to have time to calm himself. Pouring himself a glass of cinnamon wine, sipping it slowly, relishing the taste and the view of his beautiful boy on the floor, Gabriel waits. Pretending not to study him, Gabriel notices every little shift, every change in expression, assessing how long he can let Dean remain unsupervised.

Minutes pass by. Dean sighs impatiently. Gabriel is well aware that he takes a risk, giving Dean room to think, but these little blocks of silence are also the times when Dean sinks into himself, into a deep, voluntary submission, one that calms him. Somehow Dean appears so attuned to the connection between them when he is left aroused and in anticipation of Gabriel's next move. Gabriel is as impatient; he is horny like hell. He is attuned, too, to Dean's needs, and right now there is nothing he want to do to satisfy his own. Dean is more important than his desires.

Time moves by, slowly, calmly, in the silence. Dean is quiet now. Gabriel can hear his breathing turn into slow, deep intakes of air. Occasionally Gabriel reaches down without looking, stroking Dean's hair, or his shoulder, or his cheek. From time to time Gabriel looks at his toy, his plaything, his Dean. "You please me," he tells Dean, praising him for his patience and his pliancy. "You are beautiful. You are strong. I adore you."

Dean makes a little, satisfied noise. He lets out a deep sigh, tension gone. Gabriel smiles. "Look at me."

With eyes dark and deep, Dean raises his head. "My Lord?"

"You may speak." Gabriel trusts Dean to tell him now if there is something he needs, something that makes his submission better for him.

"Allow me to please you, My Lord." Mouth half open, Dean licks his upper lip. "I need it."

A nod from Gabriel encourages Dean to go on. Gabriel pulls up his tunic again, and Dean gets to work, keeping his position as Gabriel offers up his half-hard cock to him. There is no teasing this time; Dean is eager, as aroused as Gabriel. "I'm going to fuck your mouth," Gabriel moans, thrusting up as he pulls Dean's head down. Dean is perfect. "Use your hands," Gabriel commands, wanting nimble fingers massaging his sac, a finger or two in his ass when Dean sucks him dry.

The leather chair creaks under him as he searches for leverage, raising his hips from the seat to get his dick as deep into Dean's throat as possible. The angle is wrong and still Dean takes it, gasping and choking. It only makes Gabriel's arousal flare; Heaven, Dean is so willing and eager to pleasure him! For the first time since they started, Gabriel allows himself to enjoy it without concern for Dean or his well-being. Dean's attention is focused on Gabriel's pleasure now, nothing else. Gabriel is close, too close, and Dean's eagerness makes it difficult to hold back. "Stop," he demands, needing the break.

Dean pulls back, obediently kneeling, head down, eyes averted.

"I want to come in your mouth," Gabriel says. "Would you like that?" He makes it sound like a command, not a question, but Gabriel leaves enough room for Dean to decide what he needs. He studies Dean closely, looking for anger or reluctance, but there is none. Dean is perfection, it is perfect how he reins himself in, his submission more precious to Gabriel because he knows what it costs him. 

"Yes, please, My Lord." Dean looks up without being ordered. "I would like that very much." Lips parted, Dean makes it obvious how _available_ he is. 

High Lord, Gabriel loves how Dean tells him with the slightest move, the minute change of expression what he is willing to give. Gabriel loves it when Dean seems to return to a state where he allows himself to be anything but the brutal warrior he is. On his knees he becomes wanted, loved, worshiped. Yet he is allowed to his showcase his strength, though in submission it is transformed, subdued. Gabriel gets up from the chair, looking down at Dean, his precious, handsome pet. Without a word, he grabs Dean's hair, pulls his head back and thrusts his dick between Dean's wet lips, moaning loudly as the hot, slick warmth encases him. Dean moves, changes the angle so he can swallow Gabriel down, take as much of him inside a he can. Dean massages Gabriel's balls, fingers rubbing over his perineum; a fingertip, damp from spit at his hole, pressing insistently.

With a few deep thrusts, hard enough to make Dean gag to keep Gabriel in his throat, Gabriel tenses, unable to fight the pleasure that overwhelms him. With one hand on the armrest, holding on to the chair to stand, Gabriel floods Dean's mouth, the violent spurts too much for Dean to swallow. Fuck, Gabriel loves it, loves his come on Dean's face: it is another mark, another sign of ownership. Gabriel loves it, anything that says _his_ , anything that Dean allows him that tells Gabriel, _I'm yours_.

Still dazed from the orgasm, Gabriel slides down, raised up on his knees, still with his hand in Dean's hair. "Thank you," he whispers, his words soft and gentle. "You are perfect." There are other things he wants to express, emotions that don't have words attached to them yet. How is Gabriel able to describe a feeling that is made up from contentment and need, from a need to care and protect, from a need to have Dean at his side? How is it possible to find a word for his need to have Dean stay here as his equal, his submissive, his lover? Gabriel might have lived for millennia, but he has yet to come across a term that covers the confusing cornucopia of feelings he has for Dean.

Dean makes a content and aroused groan, and Gabriel needs, _needs_ to kiss Dean. It tastes horrible; Gabriel hates the taste of semen, but he loves Dean's mouth, so it doesn't matter. Licking into the mess of come and saliva is deliciously dirty, a way for Gabriel to tell Dean that he loves what they do together. As Dean melts into his embrace, Dean's cock rubs against Gabriel's stomach, thick and heavy and in urgent need of attention. Still with his tongue buried in Dean's mouth, Dean squirming eagerly under him, Gabriel jerks Dean off, a hard grip, hard strokes, no refinement. He wants Dean's orgasm, wants to wring it from him, cruel and violent and good. Teasing Dean's slit for a little, a nail piercing and prodding, Gabriel has Dean whimpering, mewling, hands clawing at his back. Gabriel breaks the kiss to suck a mark into Dean's skin, yet another stamp of ownership. "Lean back and spread," Gabriel demands, pleased with the red bruise on Dean's neck. Gabriel wants more, more marks. It might be that he is a little jealous of Benny and the life Dean had before, the life that didn't include him. Or it might be that Gabriel is a little possessive. Dean belongs to him and no one else. His, his, _his_!

On his elbows, legs pulled up and apart, Dean does as he is told, watching Gabriel with heavy-hooded eyes. He tilts his head a little to the side, exposing his neck, the red mark a contrast to his pale skin. "More, My Lord," Dean says. He makes it sound like a plea, but they both know that it's an order. Gabriel is on with the program. If Dean wants marks, Dean will get marks. Speeding up the strokes, Gabriel sucks at the soft skin of Dean's inner thigh. Dean moans again, letting his legs fall, spread wide in a display of debauched want. Putting his hands over his head, Dean submits, urging Gabriel on with more moans, with more sensual rolls of his hips.

"Mine," Dean insists, losing it so beautifully. " _My_ Lord."

"If you want it, I'm all yours," Gabriel agrees. "Yours entirely. Everything you need. It's yours." 

Without warning, just there, Dean comes, as if being granted ownership of everything that Gabriel is enough to drive him over the edge. Gabriel can do nothing but to satisfy his perfect toy, his perfect lover, stroking and kissing him until he is done, limp on the floor, once again smeared with come and kisses. 

Gabriel cannot help himself. He laughs as he flops down next to Dean, earning him a surprised and tired look. 

"How did you become the center of my universe?" Gabriel asks, stretching up to kiss Dean on the mouth as Dean looks down at him. "Just don't let it get to your head; I'm not done with you yet."

Both grateful and a little perky, Dean turns on his side and wraps his arm around Gabriel's waist. "Of course, My Lord, if you say so."

"Oh, you bet I say so, you impertinent brat." Gabriel turns them over, pinning Dean down to kiss him over and over, lazy and deep and demanding. "And rest assured," Gabriel says when he allows Dean a pause to breathe, "that it is going to take a very long time before I'll let you go."

*

None of the guards stare at him. They are used to it by now, seeing Dean naked. Naked and kneeling, naked in Gabriel's bed, naked in the bath, on his knees, sucking Lord Gabriel off. Of course they don't care that he's being dragged down the corridor and up the stairs, hands tied behind his back, by a prince of the royal family. Once in a while one of the brief glances is appreciative; Dean has no illusions about his physical appearance: he knows he looks good. Dean sorta... likes it that they look at him with a glint of lust. He likes that he is desired, and mostly he likes the angry glare that Lord Gabriel sends anyone who looks at him for too long. Dean is not into jealousy, but a pinch is good when it comes to spicing things up. He likes how other people's desire sparks Lord Gabriel's need to claim him in the most pleasant (and sometimes less pleasant, but always satisfying) ways.

The soldiers standing outside Lord Gabriel's chambers are his most devoted guards; one is a third son of the Lord of Lakes, the other his human friend. Neither cares to look at Dean, they merely push the huge doors open and let them pass with a nod as Lord Gabriel tightens his grip on Deans arm. There is going to be a bruise. Dean likes it. He likes how Lord Gabriel renders him unable to think, leaving room for little but to hang on and enjoy the dominant and relentless use of his body. At times like these, Dean is all Lord Gabriel's. All.

The door has barely closed behind them before Lord Gabriel grabs Dean by the shoulders, slamming him up against the heavy mahogany doors. Dean grunts, his hands squeezed between the doors and his back. "Yes, please," Dean manages, moaning his acceptance. "Please!"

Lord Gabriel seems consumed by a burning lust. He thrusts his hips forward, his renewed erection rubbing over Dean's thigh. His caresses are violent and harsh, so good, hands on Dean's skin everywhere, no spot too strange or too intimate. Dean loves it when Lord Gabriel cannot hold back, loves it when he manages to drive Lord Gabriel to the edge with him. 

"Yes," Lord Gabriel moans, "I need you to show me how much you want to satisfy me. Show me how much you want to please me. Make up for your disobedience." Lord Gabriel kisses Dean's chest, nibbling and biting around one nipple. 

Dean moans hoarsely, wanting more. Lord Gabriel's warm soft tongue and hard teeth make up for a delightful contrast of tenderness and hurt. "I'll do anything you want," Dean promises. He craves it now, giving himself up to Lord Gabriel; to be washed clean of rebellion and anger. Only when he kneels for his master is he able to forget the life he once had, the one he is longing to get back. "Use me any way you want, My Lord."

Yeah, that's what Dean wants. He wants Lord Gabriel to use his body for pleasure. He wants to be taken. He wants Lord Gabriel's desire to rise and overflow, to turn into a raging flood that sweeps them both up, drowns them in the thrill of satisfied desires.

Lord Gabriel uses time to make Dean squirm, sucking and pinching his nipples hard. Lord Gabriel strokes Dean's cock, a finger over the head or a tight ring of fingers sliding all the way to the hilt and back. Dean needs the wall to keep standing. It feels as if he could come, just from what Lord Gabriel is doing right there.

Of course it is not enough. Dean wants to hold Lord Gabriel to his promise that he isn't done playing with him yet.

"On the bed," Lord Gabriel demands before Dean is able to complain. He grabs Dean's hands, loosening the rope. "On your back, pull your legs up and apart."

Dean tries to make his legs work. He can do it. The bed isn't that far away. Only it was never Lord Gabriel's plan that Dean would be allowed to walk.

"Crawl," he says, his voice soft, a caress as his breath ghosts across Dean's wet nipple. "On your knees. Kiss my feet." Lord Gabriel grabs Dean's jaw, iron hard. "You do wish to please me, do you not?" 

Again, there is a way out, Dean knows it. The mere idea of kissing Lord Gabriel's boots is appalling, and yet it arouses him that Lord Gabriel _dares_ take their play so far out that it grazes territory that Dean had thought to be forbidden, outside their limits. _He_ forbade it, he knows he did. He pauses, their game pushed into the background, wondering why Gabriel is challenging him. Dean knowsiIt is his choice whether he will allow it, there is no doubt about that. He can choose. Kiss his Lord's feet or be punished. Dean is not sure he can do it. It's easier to endure a spanking or a night on the floor. Then again, he knows why Gabriel is doing it: it's the perfect distraction from Dean's rebellious thoughts of freedom, and yet it provides a challenge, showing that Gabriel trusts him to fight himself, even when he is at his most vulnerable point. Dean takes a deep breath, falling into the submissive mindset once more.

"Look at me," Lord Gabriel says. "It is different now. You'll do it because you want to, because you wish to please me. Take your time." Lord Gabriel's hands move over Dean's hips, over his thighs, teasing, light strokes that serve to distract him. "I can imagine nothing as beautiful as you, naked and at my feet, showing your devotion to me," Lord Gabriel whispers. "It makes me hard to think about it. It won't be the first time I have imagined it, your lips pressing kisses to my feet. And every time I thought of you on the floor, giving me your full submission, I had to jerk off. That is how much your willing submission arouses me."

Dean bites his lip. He can't. He can. He can't. He can. Oh, _fuck_ it. His mind is filled with conflicting feelings, siblings to those he had earlier, when Benny's presence kicked him right in the gut. Kissing Lord Gabriel's boots is too hard, too harsh. It is a symbol of the freedom that was taken away. He groans; he doesn't want to be confused and yearning and rebellious. He doesn't want to long so badly for the one thing that Gabriel cannot give him. It is too much. To escape Dean takes a deep breath, searching for his inner calm, turning his attention inwards. Lord Gabriel's touches are distant, yet the idea of submitting to Lord Gabriel's wish is a looming mountain of insurmountable emotions. _There is a difference,_ Dean thinks as he tries not to recall the one time when Gabriel abused him, one time so similar to this. _Freedom makes it different,_ Dean decides. He is not free, but he is free to say yes or no. He is free to ask Lord Gabriel for something else to do. He is free to refuse entirely. It'll cost him a night on the floor, sure, but that one is a given already; Dean is certain that Lord Gabriel will tie him up and leave him aroused and wanting in return for his behavior today. Dean is fine with that; his master will make sure he is satisfied before they are done playing.

And _that_ is the core of it, Dean decides. Lord Gabriel never refuses Dean anything, never leaves him wanting, never makes him feel that his need for submission makes him weak or worthless. On the contrary. 

For that, Dean will crawl at Lord Gabriel's feet, place kisses on them, show his master how much he likes what they do together, how much he has come to trust his mercurial Tempest Lord.

Finally calm, Dean sinks to the floor, in full control of his slightest move. He wants to obey Lord Gabriel, but he will not do so without dignity. Lord Gabriel knows the importance of the gift Dean is offering him, and Dean will not give Lord Gabriel a gift that isn't perfection. But it is hard, truly difficult to overcome the memory of abuse, replacing it with one of desire. Dean has to stop and force himself to stay kneeling. Above him he can hear Lord Gabriel's deep breaths; he too is controlling himself. It gives Dean the strength to go on. If Lord Gabriel thinks he can drive Dean to his limit, Dean sure is willing to reciprocate. 

As much as he wants to obey, he also wants Lord Gabriel to snap, to lose the tight hold on his raging desire. Yeah, Dean would like that, to make Lord Gabriel unleash his desire. He wants to feel what it's like, getting caught in the wildfire of Lord Gabriel's passion. Dean bends his head as not to reveal the smile on his face. Then he straightens up, spreading his legs wide before he stretches, sliding his hands up his chest until his fingers rest, spread too, over his nipples. Then he looks up at Lord Gabriel, letting him see how much Dean wants him. Dean pinches his sore nipples and _moans_ , letting the sensuous sound reveal how much he likes the sensation.

"Dean..."

"Yes, Master?" Dean pinches his nipples again, hard enough for it to hurt. It makes his cock throb. "I like it." He does; he likes it very much, but he likes teasing Lord Gabriel even more.

Lord Gabriel's breath hitches. "Dean!" This time it's a threat.

"Yes, Master." Dean puts his hands on his back and leans forward. The boots are different this time, soft black leather and cold silver, polished to a shine. Dean presses his lips to one, lingering there long enough to take in the softness of the leather, the rough, cool edges of the silver embroideries. Without haste he moves, kissing Gabriel's other foot. Dean lingers there, bent over in total submission for his master. It is not hard at all. It is as if the decision to submit has made his need to rebel disappear. All there is left is a need to please. It has nothing to do with his lack of freedom, but everything to do with the freedom that Lord Gabriel gives him when he needs it. 

Like Lord Gabriel provides everything else that Dean needs.

"Thank you, My Lord," Dean whispers, giving his master liberty to take from him everything _he_ needs.

Lord Gabriel exhales, the only sound in the room the sound of his deep sigh. Then the storm is over them. Dean doesn't register how he gets from the floor to the bed with Gabriel's half-naked body over his. A wind rips the curtains off the rods. The fire roars, heat flaring. Dean's hands are slammed against the headboard, and something is tied around them. He doesn't care what it is, it is strong enough to hold him as he pulls hard, testing the restraints. Gabriel's eyes are golden fire, mad with desire.

"Rough or gentle?" Gabriel whispers, out of control, out of his mind with the urge to take and possess. 

Heaven, Dean loves it. He loves the strong muscles in Gabriel's thighs, pressing against his hips. He likes the determined manhandling as Gabriel moves back to push his legs up, wide apart. "You are going to take me now?" he asks, keeping his legs open. "You're going to fuck me?"

"That's what you want, isn't it, pet?" Gabriel fumbles for a moment, before something cold and greasy is at Dean's opening, Gabriel's fingers sliding into him. 

"Yes. Hard," Dean demands. "Hard and rough and possessive. Show me you _own_ me. Show me how good it's going to be when I allow you to own me." 

"You are not in a position to make demands, toy," Gabriel sneers. "Show me some respect, or I'll make you regret your insolence."

"High Lord, yes! Please!" Dean whines, shivering with arousal. Gabriel unleashed is better than he thought. "Please, My Lord," Dean remembers to add, a remarkable feat, because his brain functions seem to be rapidly dwindling. "Yes, My Lord. Please fuck me hard and slow and rough." Dean squirms as Gabriel's fingers go in deep, twisting and turning in him, making him ready for cock. Dean, in his haze of aroused anticipation, realizes how much he wants it. He's been waiting for Gabriel to fuck him for so long, just because fucking is good and Dean wanted it. Now it's more than a pleasant fuck. It is Dean's full submission, body and mind. He'd thought it would make him less, being driven to his limit, almost over it, but in fact it makes him more, gives him more power, more strength.

Lord Gabriel sets a hard pace, shoving his fingers deep inside Dean while he teases his cock with the other hand. It's almost cruel. Fast strokes, a nail pressed into Dean's slit, the twist of iron-hard fingers, the pull and push of skin. Lord Gabriel's cock is straining against the fabric of his tunic, and Lord Gabriel lets go of Dean for a moment to discard it. Dean lies with eyes closed, gasping, waiting for more. "Please, hurry," he urges Lord Gabriel on. "Please, take me." Dean offers, his fists open and close, fingers tight around the rope that binds him to the headboard.

Gabriel slides an arm around Dean's waist, pulling him closer, lifting him up. Dean wraps his legs around Lord Gabriel's waist, barely there before Lord Gabriel slides in, slow and insistent.

Yes, oh, yes. 

"Look—" Lord Gabriel says, the remains of the sentence becoming flotsam in a stream of moans following the slow movements in and out of Dean's body. "Dean, look at me."

Dean mewls softly; he has no words left, only sounds, little broken pieces of need that spur Lord Gabriel on. Lord Gabriel bends down, pressing a sloppy kiss to Dean's mouth, thrusting his tongue in deep as well. Gabriel smells of fresh air during rainfall and a little of sweat and arousal. His mouth is warm and cinnamon-tasting, and Dean licks into it, tongues stroking and flicking over lips and into mouths over and over as Lord Gabriel slams in to the hilt, languidly pulling back, only to slam back into Dean again. 

It's more about the act and the sensations; Dean isn't hard, but he loves what Lord Gabriel does to him. Dean floats on the sea of sensations, little waves of pleasure and possession. Lord Gabriel is incredibly sexy, all sweaty and falling apart at the seams; he has difficulties holding back, Dean sees it. The bedroom is quiet. There is nothing but the rustle of silk and the muted moans that Lord Gabriel leaves vibrating on Dean's skin. It's the silence in the eye of the storm, a peaceful, perfect place. 

Dean unleashes the storm for a second time. "Come in me," he whispers, kissing Lord Gabriel with all he has. "Please, My Lord."

There is a hard hand in his hair, teeth on his neck, fingers on his nipples, more marks, a cock fucked deep into him, over and over and over, faster and harder for each thrust. Dean can do nothing but let the storm wash over him again, enjoying the almost violent need that his lord and master has for him. Every sensation, every rough touch speak of Lord Gabriel's need, and Dean soaks it up, Lord Gabriel's desire is to him like water in a dry desert. 

"Dean, fuck, Dean... Heaven, fuck, I—" Lord Gabriel is incoherent, gasping for air, fingers digging into Dean's hips. It takes but an instant before Lord Gabriel moans hoarsely, stutters on yet another, "Oh, Dean," and comes, sliding in and out in the slick flood of come, taking his pleasure in Dean's full surrender.

Smeared with sweat and come, sore from the hard fuck, sore from marks sucked into his skin, Dean feels a deep peace wash over him. He doesn't want to come, although maybe he should feel like coming; it is unimportant compared to the feeling of being claimed entirely by Lord Gabriel. Dean simply lies there, his body humming with arousal, enjoying how it makes him want to be _here_ , right here, right now, in Lord Gabriel's bed. It should frighten him, but there really is nowhere else he'd rather be. 

Nowhere.

For a while Dean rests in Lord Gabriel's embrace, rests in the closeness they have. He needs no words, no touch but Lord Gabriel's arms around him. From time to time one of them makes a content hum or a pleased sigh. It's all they need, Dean thinks.

A servant slips in, bringing Lord Gabriel hot water and washcloths. Another servant places a tray with wine and water and fruits at the bedside table before they both disappear as quietly as they arrived. 

"Raise your head." Lord Gabriel pours a goblet of water and holds it to Dean's lips. He gulps it down, suddenly parched. Reality is returning, and still Dean enjoys feeling sore and used. He lies quietly, letting Lord Gabriel clean him and see to his needs. Dean is offered a few slices of sweet, dried mango, and he chews them slowly, not refusing the too-sweet treat. He's not hungry, but the sugar does him good. 

"Feeling better?" Lord Gabriel asks.

Not sure they are done playing, Dean chooses the safe way. "I was not aware that I was allowed to feel bad, My Lord." Dean raises his eyes to meet Lord Gabriel's. "You were very good to me. Thank you."

"You, too, were very good. I am extremely satisfied with you, Dean." 

Lord Gabriel swallows a few pieces of fruit and some water before he returns to lie down next to Dean. Dean turns over, snuggling up to his master as well as possible with his bound hands. Lord Gabriel is like a small furnace, always warm to the touch. 

Dean pulls at the ties, asking the question without actually asking it. 

"No, I'm not releasing you. You pleased me, but you have not yet been punished. You will sleep on the floor until it suits me to take you back into my bed." Lord Gabriel unties the rope from the headboard, but he doesn't untie Dean's hands. Lord Gabriel's gentle fingers slide in between the rope and Dean's wrists as if to check if they are too tight. Dean likes that too, that Lord Gabriel is concerned about his well-being,ensuring that he will be comfortable in his uncomfortable position.

Dean is a little disappointed. There is no way around his well-deserved punishment, though. Lord Gabriel has to keep him in his place; anything else would defy the rules of their game. So if Lord Gabriel thinks that Dean's place is on the floor, then that is how it is. Until they are done playing. Until then, Lord Gabriel's wishes are Dean's law. It is only a small token in return for the peace Lord Gabriel's dominance brings Dean. High Lord, how he loves the calm and the quiet of being cherished like Lord Gabriel cherishes him — in _and_ outside bed. 

"Yes, My Lord. Thank you for your lenience." Dean presses gentle kisses to Lord Gabriel's shoulder, yawning as the long session begins to take its toll.

"You're my most precious toy," Lord Gabriel says, turning Dean's face so he can kiss him on the mouth. "My precious boy."

"Thank you, My Lord." Dean turns over, a bit of semen slipping out of him as he moves. He moans; it is dirty and good. Slowly he gets on the floor, careful not to move too fast, careful to move in a sensual fashion, making his mere appearance a delight for his master. 

"Good. Lie down." Lord Gabriel pulls a pillow from the bed, patting it to show Dean where he wants him to lie.

Dean doesn't argue; he is too tired to even try. He curls up on the carpet. The fire is still burning. He's not going to be that cold, despite the storm raging outside the windows. 

Gabriel strokes him gently, whispering something that Dean cannot hear. It sounds nice and calming and Dean sighs contentedly. "Rest," Lord Gabriel demands. "Rest until I want to use you again."

There is a rustle from the bed as one of the heavy, fluffy comforters is spread over him. Dean almost purrs as Lord Gabriel tugs him in, fussing over him, making sure he isn't going to be cold. A little later Lord Gabriel's hand slides into his. "Mmm," is all Dean gets out, entangling his fingers with his master's. Lord Gabriel whispers to him, words as gentle as the touch. With the slow strokes of Gabriel's thumb on the back of his hand, Dean falls asleep, warm and cared for.

*

The night-storm isn't over. The heavy iron shutters keep the light and the sand out, and Gabriel shouldn't be awake this early in the morning. Someone has managed to put the curtains back on their rails. Gabriel should be asleep, still, satisfied, pleased with the trust Dean showed him. Gabriel stretches, reaching for Dean, but the bed is too empty to his liking. Dean is still lying on the rug next to the bed, the thick comforter wrapped tightly around his naked body, except for his feet that are sticking out. The fire has almost burned down, and Gabriel yawns, a little too cold to be comfortable. He could call a servant. He doesn't want to be disturbed, though, so Gabriel gets out of bed to put some wood on the dying fire. He works up a tiny whirlwind inside the huge fireplace, just enough to give the fire air to breathe. He gets back to bed, slipping under the warm covers.

Leaning over the edge of the gigantic bed, Gabriel looks at his sleeping pet. Dean is neatly tied up, his hands over his head, although nothing holds them there.

Gabriel watches Dean sleep, thinking through what they did yesterday. Yesterday's session was a different kind of play, something deep, something much more serious than what they usually do. It requires trust, Gabriel knows, to ask for that level of dominance and submission. They have come a long way since Dean refused him the first time. Maybe, Gabriel muses, he really is getting better at understanding human emotion, Dean's emotions in particular. Dean hadn't hesitated to ask for help. Dean had known what he wanted: a safe place to fight himself, a place of care and pleasure. Gabriel is still slightly surprised with himself, surprised that he understood so easily what Dean asked for. It doesn't make him happy that Dean was unhappy, but he is pleased that Dean trusts him. 

It's right this way, Gabriel thinks. Dean asks and he provides. Gabriel is not sure it is what he had in mind when he bought Dean. When he thinks back, he was practically clueless, lured in by the easy access to a man he found incredibly attractive. Gabriel took the opportunity because he could. Now, when he watches Dean, it's a different Dean he sees. Dean is not a thing that can be purchased. Dean is Dean, strong and independent and smart, the pinnacle of what a human can be and become, inferior only because of the poor circumstances of his upbringing and the difficulties his generous heart and his caring disposition have brought him.

Dean is a superior human being despite those setbacks. Gabriel would consider it to be a gift to be allowed to continue Dean's education, in bed, and outside it. Dean is bright; he definitely isn't lacking intellectual capacity. His mind is sharp and clear; Dean has such incredible potential. 

Sam has already showed remarkable talent. Gabriel considers for a moment what it would mean to have men like the two Winchester brothers in positions of power at his father's court. Alastair's faction would be gone very, very soon, because Dean and his brother are ruthless if they need be. If they were handed real power, Gabriel is sure the kingdom would see change very soon. In the Cage Dean showed how determined and powerful he is. Dean was never made to be owned. He was made to rule, lead and fight. In a future not too far away, he might get the chance, at least if Gabriel has a say in it. Sam is being groomed by Lucifer, groomed for a position with the state administration, Gabriel is sure of it. Lucifer hasn't said anything, but Gabriel knows his big brother. Oh, Sam is going to rise to power, and if Gabriel doesn't do something, Sam will take Dean with him.

Away from the Sky Palace.

Gabriel refuses to think about it in this moment of perfect bliss. There is so little time left. There is too little time and Gabriel wants to enjoy every second of it. Every moment counts.

But Gabriel doesn't have a torc locked around his neck. He is sure that Dean sees the situation differently, very differently: he is the one who has lost his rights. Dean doesn't think that there is too little time left, of that Gabriel is sure. No matter what Gabriel wishes for, the torc will come off, not that Gabriel truly wants Dean to stay a slave. Short of kidnapping Dean, keeping him prisoner, there is only so much Gabriel can do if Dean refuses him when the torc no longer holds him back. With the recent development in their relationship, Gabriel knows that Dean is not his caged bird, and he will not treat him like one. He will never force Dean to do anything against his will.

"When did your happiness become so important to me?" Gabriel murmurs, close to inaudible, stroking Dean's cheek. "There is nothing in the world I want as much as you."

Dean stirs and stretches, shivering as the comforter slides off of him. "Ga— My Lord?" he says, sleep making his voice rough and low. He pulls at the ties, as if they surprise him by their presence.

Gabriel smiles. "Come up here, Dean, if you want," he urges. He's not really in the mood for playing right now, but he is certainly willing if Dean wishes to stay in the confines of the room they created from silence and submission.

"I want. It's frigging cold down here." Dean holds out his hands. "Do you mind?"

"Mind to warm you up? What planet are you on?"

"Same as you, apparently. And I wouldn't mind it if there was coffee too." Dean grins, yesterday's anger and sadness gone. Gabriel unties him, throwing the rope on the floor. 

"You can have coffee later," Gabriel says and pulls Dean into bed; a grave mistake: "Cold!" he cries when Dean deliberately slides frozen feet up Gabriel's calves, one leg hooked around him to prevent him from fleeing the icy attack.

"You're planning another night on the floor?" Gabriel chuckles, gasping as Dean's feet reach a warmth level that is less Arctic. "You're cruel."

"Sweet revenge." Dean gives Gabriel a kiss, morning breath and all. 

Gabriel sighs happily at the demand. Gabriel decides on the spot that in the future Dean will have to behave extraordinarily awful before he is sleeping on the floor. Gabriel is an enterprising being — he can come up with better and sexier punishments than throwing Dean out of his bed. Yesterday's punishment, however, had been necessary; there is no way Gabriel could have refused to give Dean the relief he craved and found through his venture into deep submission. 

Placing little kisses on Dean's skin, trying to give each freckle one of its own, Gabriel caresses Dean gently, slow, calming strokes, until he relaxes in his embrace. "Feeling better?" Gabriel wants to know. "You wanna talk about it? About what happened yesterday?"

Dean makes a noncommittal sound, his face buried in the crook of Gabriel's neck. "Nothing to talk about."

"Sure, that's why you were asking me to make you work through this little insignificant matter of which we shall not speak." Gabriel pulls back, looking at Dean who in turn refuses to look up at him. "This is what I think: Benny reminded you of what you had, I understand that. Maybe asking you to stay here, in my palace, was a mistake. I mean... I can't really ask of you that you live your life as my concubine, and this is not a harem. Benny made you wish you weren't here, am I right?"

"You bought me."

Obviously there _is_ something to talk about.

"I did. And I told you that you may leave at any point if you wish to leave. With or without the torc." Gabriel wants to shout that he'd like to keep Dean tied up, marked, imprisoned in his bed for what remains of eternity, but he doesn't. Dean is not his to have, not like that. That, at least, he has learned by now. "As long as you are aware of the consequences."

"I hate you," Dean says, with little conviction. "I don't want to leave, but you tell me I'm yours and yet you don't want me. I—"

"Oh, I want you, Dean. Don't even think that I don't." Gabriel turns on his side, looking down at Dean.

"You want a pet." Dean snorts, as if that's a bad thing.

"That too," Gabriel admits. "Most of all I want _you_. All of you."

"Even if I refuse to kneel for you ever again?"

Yes, of course Gabriel would want Dean. Kneeling, standing, jumping, sleeping, singing _Yes, Sir I Can Boogie_ from the top of his lungs, Gabriel doesn't care. It doesn't matter anymore. 

"Even if you refuse to get on your knees for me," he says. "But we both know that you enjoy kneeling, and I enjoy that you kneel, so why would you deny yourself the pleasure?" 

"It's degrading." Dean looks away. They both know that he is lying.

Gabriel can't stop himself. He laughs. Loudly. "Yeah. Sure it is, Dean-o. Totally degrading. Since there is no way in hell you have me wrapped around your little finger while I degrade you by pleasing you, creating a space tailored to your wishes. Some might say that _you_ may be the one submitting to me, but I certainly ain't the one calling the shots."

Dean purses his lips and what can Gabriel do other than to kiss that delicious mouth? "Stop it," Dean growls, dragging Gabriel flush against his naked chest. "You own me. I am not allowed to fight you," he whispers, almost seductively, enticingly. Dean kisses Gabriel again, almost violently, biting at Gabriel's lower lip, thrusting his tongue in deep, licking and taking what he wants. Dean stops only when Gabriel moans. "Just look at those," Dean says and points at one of the vivid marks on his chest. "You own me, and you like that it shows."

"Torc aside, yes I do."

"I hate the torc!" Dean is up, pulling Gabriel around, brutal and fast.

The move is surprising, and Gabriel is on his back before he can fight it, pinned down by Dean, all determined and unrelenting. Heaven, Dean is hot and dangerous. Gabriel's dick is on with it; Gabriel moans loudly as Dean rubs against him, his ass sliding over Gabriel's balls. "Uhn," is all Gabriel manages before Dean leans over him, kissing him as if his life depended on it. There is a tinge of desperation in the kiss and Gabriel has to use real force to push Dean away, pulling at his wrists to keep him still. 

"What do you want, Dean?" Gabriel asks, not letting go of Dean's hands. "Talk to me. How am I supposed to understand you if you insist that there is nothing to talk about? Come on, kiddo! Own up!"

"Why don't you take everything?" Dean asks. "Why?"

"Take you against your will? Don't you think I know that it would cost me if I did? And I don't want to. I am not a rapist."

"And yet you could do that so eas—"

"No! Dean, fuck! I want you, but — and—" Gabriel sighs, trying to find the right words. "Yes. I like my marks on you. I like that _I_ did that, I like that it's not that damned torc that marks you as mine. I hate the torc as much as you do, because right now it's just in the way."

"In the way of you being mine, and me... me being yours?" Dean frowns, as if they are finally getting close to being on the same page.

"Yes!" Gabriel has decided to be stubborn; they need to get to the bottom of this _I own you_ -shit right the fuck now — not exactly easy with Dean on top of him. This time Gabriel is not going to let Dean get away with answering a question with a question. "What do you want, Dean? What do you want that I can give you? And no," Gabriel says, holding up a hand to silence Dean, "you're not going to get out of that one. Talk. No kissing, no anything, not unless you tell me. Not what you think I wanna hear, or what you think makes your time here better or easier! What. You. Want." 

Gabriel is frustrated. Humans are frustrating. He thought he had gotten some idea of how they work, how Dean works, except he clearly hasn't. There are times when Gabriel wishes he hadn't sworn not to read Dean's mind without his permission. He is not going to violate that promise; although he is being more inept at human-fu than he thought, he is not _that_ stupid. Dean would never come to trust him fully if he tried. The only thing he can do is to beg Dean to help him out, so he does: "Please, Dean?"

"So it's _please, Dean_ now?" Dean straightens up. "I like that. All right. I suppose there is something to talk about." He pauses, thinking. "Firstly, I don't like that you disappear without warning, and that you don't tell me where you are going. Secondly, I don't like that my life is total crap, and I don't like that I'm not sure what you want with me, other than to have me in your bed. And you don't really... I mean... I _want_ you, despite everything! You mark me as yours, and then you tell me I can go away if I want out. You tell me you want me, but you don't want to have sex with me, nor do you want me to stay."

"Excuse me," Gabriel says, slightly baffled. "you have no idea how much I want you here. And how is what we do not sex?"

"We don't fuck," Dean says, for once being direct. "Or... we didn't until now. I want that. More of it."

"Well, duh! Just say so." Not exactly a chore. Dean's ass is as delicious as the rest of him. "There is no limit to what you can have if only you tell me what it is you need from me." 

Gabriel wants them to talk this through; for the first time Dean is truly talking to him, showing real emotions, real demands. For the first time Dean is honest with himself, Gabriel thinks. Dean isn't trying to take the easy way out, the one that makes his year in Gabriel's palace bearable. Dean sure is less complicated when he is angry, but Gabriel doesn't want his boy angry right now; he wants him clear-headed and honest. 

It suddenly hits Gabriel with the clarity of the morning sun: Dean is insecure and the anger is merely a cover. Of course Dean doesn't want to be non-human, but he definitely wants to be wanted. It's the core of their relationship: Gabriel knows that. He has to show to Dean that he is wanted, that Gabriel wants _him_ , and not just his beautiful submission. As much as Gabriel has tried to give Dean all the freedom he needs, it has also made Dean question his continued presence in the Sky Palace, as if Dean cannot see that he has value, merely by being Dean. 

Gabriel gets up on one elbow, only to pull Dean down on top of him. He kisses Dean gently on the mouth. "What else?"

"I don't want the torc." Dean's face turns dark. "I frigging hate it. But it has to stay, I _know_ that." Dean touches one of the spots on his neck, purple on pale skin. "But... I want your marks. Something that is between you and me, and not between you, me and the rest of the world." Dean makes a face again. "I hate you."

No. It's not complicated at all.

Gabriel must have looked sad or disappointed because Dean reaches up, hesitating a moment before he strokes Gabriel's cheek. "I didn't mean it like that. It's not personal."

"Sure, _I hate you_ isn't personal at all." Gabriel actually is affronted. He tries so hard to understand his human, but clearly he isn't doing a very good job. Or maybe Dean is trying to obstruct his attempts? "I like you, Dean." 

Dean presses his lips together, a thin line of discontent. "I don't _want_ to like you. I hate that you bought me; I'd have hated anyone who bought me. Some more than others."

"Alastair."

"Lord Alastair, Lord Crowley. Lady Abaddon. Besides none of them are as hot as you are," Dean says, the discontent fading quickly, leaving room for Dean to get in a better mood. 

"Of course they aren't. I mean... my charm... nobody can withstand it," Gabriel agrees. "So... If I promise not to leave without telling you, and that I'll never stop you from leaving, or from asking me to remove the torc if you want it off, will you stay? Willingly? Not because I bought you or because we have good sex?"

"You mean, because I like you? Oh, man. You are incredible." Dean laughs and snorts at the same time.

"Why would you want to have my marks on you if you don't like me? It's a bit radical if you wanted it only for our playtime fun."

"I don't want anything permanent."

"Okay." There is no permanence, neither, in being bought or rented out for a year. Gabriel doesn't like it, but the conditions are not his to make.

"And don't let it get to your head that I might... like you a little."

"Can't guarantee that." Gabriel laughs, a delighted laughter. "I promise I won't tell anyone."

"Idiot," Dean growls with little conviction.

"Tattoos won't work, then?"

"Nothing permanent." Dean rolls over, the comforter sliding onto the floor. "This is not permanent."

"No." Of course Dean won't have something that reminds him of his time as a slave without rights. Unfortunately it also serves as a reminder that Dean probably is going to leave the moment he is free to do so, the moment his rights are returned to him.

"Maybe," Dean says, licking his lips and running his fingers up his chest to brush over a nipple, making it peak, "a piercing? I might like that. Right here."

"Unf!" Gabriel is sure that he was in possession of some oratorical talent at one point in his life, but it seems to have fled at the mere idea of Dean's nipples adorned with jewelry. "Yes," he manages, getting up on his knees in the bed. "That would..." Gabriel's brain is in overdrive and his cock is on with the idea too. "That would be good."

Dean smirks. "Both, I think." He pinches his nipples, moaning as he tweaks them. "Both nipples. Would you like that?"

Fuck, Gabriel needs to spank that smirk off of Dean's face. When he's done fucking him into the mattress. "Yes." Collecting what little brain-power he has left, Gabriel straddles Dean's hips, running his hands down his chest, across the navel. "What about here?" he asks, leaning forward to lick across Dean's belly button.

"Maybe." Dean squirms a little and Gabriel moves further down, blowing a stream of air over Dean's dick. "Here?"

This time it is Dean who loses his ability to speak. His cock fills with blood in record time. "Yes. I— maybe."

"Yes? Maybe?" Gabriel says, sliding his little finger across the head, dipping a nail into the slit. "Here?"

"Oh, _fuck_!" Dean moans loudly and bites his lip. "Yes. Yes!" 

"Nipples _and_ dick," Gabriel says teasingly. Clearly the talk about piercings arouses Dean, and who would Gabriel be if he didn't do everything to please his boy? "Your nipples will look even more gorgeous adorned with rings and gemstones, little pretty things to pull and twist."

Dean looks up at him with parted lips and shiny eyes. He is silent apart from his breathing that has become deeper and faster.

"I could use the rings to tie you up, decorate your perfect body to my liking, force you to kneel and wrap golden chains around you, precious metals and leather." Gabriel's voice is low and dark. "I could chain you, make it impossible for you to move without pulling your nipples, or your cock. I could take you to court like that, clad in nothing but the rarest jewelry, so that _no one_ would be left in doubt that you have chosen to be mine and that there is nothing I will not give to see you happy and pleased."

"Uh... Mmm, please." Dean whimpers and spread his legs a bit. Gabriel slides his hand between them, cupping Dean's sac before he teases the soft skin between his balls and his hole with a sharp nail. 

Dean hisses as the finger slides over a sensitive spot.

"Here, perhaps," Gabriel suggests, pulling at the skin, pinching it between two fingers. "I could chain your cock to it, allow you to get hard only if you have pleased me."

Dean moans and rotates his hips.

"I take it that is a yes as well?" Gabriel wraps his hand around Dean's cock, stroking it slowly, dizzy with lust. 

Dean can hardly get out the reply. "Yes," he croaks, moaning around the word. "Oh, please!"

Gabriel moves further down, his knees pressing against Dean's hips. He continues jerking Dean off, leaning forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to Dean's mouth. They kiss for a while, Gabriel's tongue deep in Dean's mouth, while he makes Dean squirm on the silk sheets. "Tongue?" Gabriel asks when he let go, taking a few deep breaths, smirking because he has uncovered one of Dean's hidden kinks. 

"No. Maybe. No." Dean shakes his head and stretches, licking over Gabriel's mouth. "You can have everything else."

"And I will," Gabriel agrees. "High Lord, Dean, you have no idea how hot you are, have you?"

"I think I have an idea." Dean teases Gabriel's hard cock with a finger, brushing over the tip of it. "Unless there is someone else who gets you this happy."

"You get me plenty happy." Gabriel is lost. There simply cannot be any living creature who is as perfect as Dean. "And now I'm going to make you happy," he promises. Heaven, he is going to make Dean happy for as long as Dean allows it. Gabriel gyrates his hips, his cock sliding it along Dean's. Dean makes a delightful moan and Gabriel does it again. Yeah, Gabriel is going to make Dean happy. And they are going to start here, in bed, because if Gabriel doesn't get to make love to his... Gabriel stops for a second, raised up on his arms as he studies Dean's arousal-flushed face. 

His lover. Not his boy or his pet or his slave, although Dean can be all that when he wants to be. His lover.

His lover.

Caught up in this new development, and entirely enchanted with the implications, Gabriel moves to lie on top of Dean, kissing his neck, his cheeks, his mouth over and over, until Dean is moaning and breathless and his hands press Gabriel harder against him, their cocks sliding exquisitely between them. Gabriel is caught up in how perfection can take many shapes; as much as he likes Dean on his knees, he likes an assertive Dean almost as much. 

They find their way underneath the comforter, and in the warmth of the small cage they create, limbs entangled, Gabriel pursues another, gentler kind of pleasure, moaning as Dean explores the curve of his back and the rounding of his thighs. Dean's legs are around him, and somewhere in the slide of limbs and the exchange of caresses and sweet nonsense, Gabriel slides into Dean, taking and giving at the same time, lost in the moans Dean makes every time Gabriel touches him. It is slow and unhurried, as if they have all the time they could ever ask for, as if there is nothing in the world but the two of them. 

Dean is doe-eyed from surprise and need, closing his eyes only when Gabriel thrusts harder, still without moving much, as if it can stretch their pleasure, staying like this, letting the morning and their kisses take them where it takes them, no direction or purpose but to enjoy being together.

Dean's orgasm is long, drawn out and very beautiful, so perfect that Gabriel almost forgets that he is on the verge of coming himself. He does, eventually, his head buried at Dean's neck, inhaling Dean's scent. It's perfect, so damned perfect when he gasps, breathless, coming with Dean's hands on his body, Dean's encouraging words in his ear. 

They slide apart in the same manner: all gentle and slow. Gabriel keeps his hand in Dean's hair, Dean keeping his arm possessively thrown across Gabriel's chest. 

There's a wet spot under Gabriel's right thigh, but he doesn't care. He doesn't want to let go. Dean turns his head, looking at Gabriel, sleepy and pleased. They don't speak. Dean smiles, barely a curl of the corners of his mouth, but Gabriel understands. He snuggles up to Dean, making sure he's covered with the heavy down comforter. Dean's breathing is still slightly erratic, but so is Gabriel's. The room is quiet. It's perfect. 

And there, in the silence between two tumultuous but content breaths, Gabriel understands that he is no longer attracted to Dean Winchester. He is in love with him.


	6. The Locks of the Approaching Storm

The market is not like any other oasis fair. The capital's market is huge, vast. It's mile upon mile of wide, clean streets, protected against the sun and the storms by sand-scrubbed windows that let in the light but not the heat. The market is cool and beautiful. The air is flower-scented and filled with music and the sound of happy voices. It's a place for good taste and old money, not for someone such as Dean.

Also. it's very, very expensive. Dean has been here before, not because he likes shopping. He was working. Dean is good with sandcars. He knows all the exclusive brands: Ghazell, Nyala, Sika and Kudo, among others. He knows how they work, and he knows how to repair them. He used to earn a few extra bucks, helping out at the exclusive dealerships that sell them. 

Gabriel leads them towards the center of the market, determined. Although most of Gabriel's purchases are done by his staff, Gabriel knows the way. As they pass through the streets, people step aside, bowing to the prince and his entourage. Samandriel and a few members of Gabriel's palace guard follow them, mostly because it's expected; the Forever-Lords' rule, despite the cruelty of the Cage, is a gentle one; few hold any designs against them. There are always exceptions, though, especially now that Dean is here.

Dean gets his share of the stares and whispers. _It's the slave. He looks good. Why is he walking next to the Lord Gabriel? Who does he think he is? Has he no respect for his betters? Lucky Lord Gabriel; Winchester is hot. Filthy slave. Awful, poor boy._ It's to be expected. He is a part of the entertainment. 

"You come back to fight next year, Winchester?" someone shouts.

A paparazzo sneaks up on them, pushing the camera in their faces. Dean wants to punch the jerk in his. He can't do that; it'll be all over the kingdom in two minutes.

Instead Dean laughs and puts his arm around Gabriel. "What? Risk another loss and another year with this one? I don't think so!"

Gabriel freezes under his touch. "Dean."

"I'm not going back in the Cage, you know I can't," Dean murmurs. "And no matter what, I won't. Maybe Alastair is more lucky next time."

Gabriel's smile is strained. He leads Dean away from the camera, signaling to the guards to take care of the unwanted company. "I would never let that happen. I would never let Alastair happen. You are mine. No matter what I have to pay to get you. You are mine, Dean."

There is that. It is also disappointing that Gabriel still regards him as a thing that can be bought and sold. Dean frowns at Gabriel's back as he turns "For now," Dean agrees. Their relationship has improved so much the last couple of weeks. Dean feels almost... human. He is not going to jeopardize that in favor of a row over rhetorics.

"For as long as you want it," Gabriel says and reaches back, taking Dean's hand in his. "And no, I don't think you're a thing to be bought and sold."

"Dude!" Dean stops. Gabriel had sworn he didn't butt in on Dean's thoughts. "My mind!"

"I didn't have to read your mind to pick up what you were thinking." Gabriel turns and pulls Dean into his arms. "You're my thing when you want to be my thing. I respect you, Dean. You are not a thing to me.I wish you'd trust me more."

"I trust you plenty, allowing you to take me here," Dean protests. "I'm letting you live out your perverted little fantasy, punching holes in me and all."

"It is so considerate and generous of you, Dean-o," Gabriel says, nodding in mock compliance. "Since the idea of getting pierced is so appalling to you... I can't even imagine the sacrifice." Gabriel leans in, nuzzling Dean's neck. "Shopping for rings and chains and gems is simply torture for you, not at all sexy anticipation, I can understand that. Since you clearly don't like the idea of me licking and biting your pierced nipples, I assume that all the moaning was you, suffering?"

Dean makes a sound that might have been a moan. Gabriel knows exactly how much he likes the idea of having his nipples pierced, which is a _lot_.

They stroll down Diamond Street, browsing the windows of one luxurious shop after another. Diamonds, opals, sapphires, Dean doesn't know the names of half the precious stones in the shops. There's gold, platinum, silver, heavy chains and light; bracelets and rings and earrings, a cornucopia of artfully crafted and mostly useless little things and trinkets. Dean raises his own hand, looking at the two cheap, but loved silver rings he wears. One he got from his father, one he bought himself. That's all he has. Together, the two small pieces couldn't pay for one of those elaborate things that the goldsmiths have for sale here.

Gabriel ignores a few inferior stores, before he stops in front of one that isn't at all what Dean expected. It seems simpler than the others; there is only a few items on display in the window.

"We're decorating your body. I'll leave it up to you to choose the rings because they'll have to stay in. Anything else, that'll be my choice. We can change the accessories if you don't like them after you tried them. Okay?"

"Yeah. But... accessories?"

"Chains, pendants, charms. Things to attach to you."

"And here I thought you were attached to me," Dean teases. "You want to be chained to me that bad?"

"You have no idea, kiddo," Gabriel says and sends Dean a smoldering glance.

No, Dean has no idea, not really, because Gabriel's mercurial moods always leave Dean with a tinge of doubt. But he begins to think he is getting there. There is so much Gabriel wants from him, and some of it Dean is not willing to give. It's easier not to understand; ignorance is bliss in this case. As long as he knows he is safe with Gabriel until their time together is over, the level of information suits Dean very well. So, as with so many other things that Gabriel does, Dean simply ignores what he doesn't understand, at least anything that isn't important. It's better that way.

Leaving the guard outside, sending Samandriel off with a heavy purse and an order to buy himself something nice, they step inside the shop. A handsome young man steps forward, waving away another that might be his assistant. His long, dark hair is braided with gems and bright strands of saffian. "Lord Gabriel! It has been a long time, My Lord." The jeweler bows and signals to the assistant to bring a chair for the valued customer. "How may I serve you and Mr..." He sends Dean a quick look. Discreet _and_ polite.

"Mr Winchester," Gabriel says. "And you'll do well to remember that he is to be treated with the same politeness you show me, Master Ion."

"Mr Winchester. A chair for Mr Winchester. And iced tea?" The jeweler is quick on the uptake, which is probably why Gabriel is a recurring customer. "How may I be of service, My Lord, Sir?" The latter honorific is directed at Dean. That is surprising.

"Rings. Nipples, perineum. And a P. A." Gabriel looks at Dean. "Still no tongue?"

"Nope." Dean has thought about it. He'd like to give Gabriel that. Only it feels wrong, because what if it ruins his taste buds? There's still chocolate-covered strawberries to be had, preferably on top of a pie, and Gabriel's pleasure is second to that. Anyway, Dean sucks cock like a pro and Gabriel certainly isn't complaining. Mostly Gabriel is moaning when Dean sucks him off. Dean doesn't need his tongue pierced to make Gabriel come. 

"An excellent choice," the jeweler says. "They will look beautiful in combination. I assume you would like chains and charms as well? For you, My Lord, or for Mr Winchester? I have amber opals that will match your eyes, My Lord, and I have emeralds for Mr Winchester, although they will pale in the presence of such amazing eyes as Mr Winchester's." 

"Bring us your recommendations for Dean, for Mr Winchester," Gabriel demands. "Coffee for Dean. Iced tea for me."

Master Ion's assistant serves them. There is jasmine-scented tea and a dark chocolate coffee that slides like heavy velvet over Dean's tongue. A small table is placed in front of them, and Master Ion puts a few small silk-lined boxes on it. He steps back, letting them have some privacy.

Dean takes a silver ring with a green ball that keeps the ring locked. He's not sure what it is, but the green stone has a shine, a clear transparency that reveals that it might be one of the aforementioned emeralds. "It's beautiful," Dean says. The ring is simple, but exquisite. He turns it in his hand. "There's no price tag."

"If you need one, you don't shop here. If you need to ask the price, you can't afford it." Gabriel stretches in the chair, content as a cat in the sun. "Dean, just pick what you like. I could buy the entire shop, and I wouldn't even notice the money were gone."

Of course. Gabriel wouldn't grace any business with his patronage if the shop wasn't exquisite, rare and expensive. Dean can't shut up. "I'm not quality merchandise, then? My price. You asked my price before you bought me. Or at least you—"

"Actually, I didn't. I gave Lord Robert carte blanche, if you recall. Any bid he received I'd top — with five million dollars. No upper limit. There is no one as precious as you, Dean."

It's true. Dean remembers every second of the auction, the worst moment in his entire life. "And if Alastair had continued bidding?"

"I'd have stopped when he reached well above the limit for what he and his charming friends could possibly own, lend or purchase. He'd would have had to withdraw his bid and in turn he would have humiliated himself so deeply that The Lady Ruby and The Lady Abaddon would have shunned him for eternity. As much as Alastair hates and despises everybody but himself, he'd not have gone that far. If Lady Ruby and Lady Abaddon don't support him, he is gone. Anyway, I have my own intelligence, Dean-o. I knew exactly what Alastair had to spend on that auction, just as I knew the amount every other potential bidder had available. Nobody, and I repeat: _nobody_ was allowed to have you but me. I knew what I was doing."

"You keep telling yourself that," Dean says teasingly, somehow flattered that Gabriel had gone through all that for him. Dean moves some of the jewelery around to take a closer look at it, hiding a slight blush. "I remember a few episodes that proved the opposite. I remember clearly that you had no idea what you were doing at all." It is unfair to tease, Gabriel has apologized, but that doesn't mean that Dean wants to let him hear the end of it just yet. Not ever, probably. He ignores Gabriel for a moment and turns to the jeweler. "I would like something with silver and black enamel. Diamonds, if Lord Gabriel insist."

"I insist!" Gabriel declares enthusiastically. "Nothing gaudy. Something classy and beautiful and perfect. The best. If Dean wants silver, he shall have silver."

Clearly, Dean and Gabriel don't see eye to eye when it comes to the interpretation of the word gaudy. Gabriel is set on Dean looking like a Christmas tree. If it makes Gabriel happy, then Dean's all right with it. Although the rings are shiny, there is pleasure to be had from them, and that's enough. 

The jeweler looks slightly offended. "We do not use silver. Platinum, white gold, but not silver. Silver is for servants. May I recommend platinum for this particular use?"

Cleverly, Gabriel doesn't say anything at all.

"Yes." Dean nods. Of course there is no silver. What was he thinking? He holds back a particularly rude comment. There is nothing wrong with silver. Except that it is obvious that nobody who _is_ anything uses silver. Apart from the Forever-Lords' slave, apparently. Then again, Dean isn't even somebody. not in the eyes of the public.

The new batch of rings that Master Ion fetches is, however, more to Dean's liking. He forces himself to ignore the fortune the small, artful pieces represent. He chooses a set of nipple rings adorned with teardrop dangles, and another, simpler set with a black enamel pattern engraved into the platinum. He considers for a moment an elegantly curved barbell for the guiche, but puts it down in favor of a black enamel and silver platinum ring that is closed with a platinum-and-diamond ball. It'll look nice between his legs. Yet another simple ring for the guiche goes into the pile. 

Not entirely sure how he's going to feel about the last piercing, Dean hesitates, hand between black enamel ring and a smooth platinum one with a diamond ball as closure. 

"Both," Gabriel urges. He moves closer. "I would like your come dribbling over that huge diamond," he murmurs, arousal evident in the low purr.

Dean's mind is willing to go with that, and so is his cock. Both rings will look nice, though, and they will feel even better. He looks at the silk-lined tray again, wondering if he should select a few more, merely so that Gabriel understands that Dean is in charge here. He pokes at a small staff with a large diamond on top and a smaller ball on a stem on the side of it. He raises an eyebrow. "What is it?"

This time Gabriel's moan isn't discreet. "If you... Nhg." Gabriel shifts in the chair. 

"My Lord?" Dean slides a hand up Gabriel's arm seductively. "Something you like?" He doesn't have to ask; he knows Gabriel well enough to see that he likes the little whatever-it-is very, very much. Dean moves closer. "For you or for me?"

"It goes," Gabriel says and takes the staff, "Into you dick. In your slit." He moans again, clearly getting aroused. "The stem comes off. It goes through the hole of your Prince Albert. It's a _prince's wand_."

"A... prince's wand? I think I have a prince's wand at my disposal already." Dean cannot decide whether he likes the idea or not. Then again he likes when Gabriel licks his cock, licks into the slit. And there was that one time when Gabriel teased him there with a nail for what seemed like hours. The pain had been exquisite. "Maybe— I'd." Dean shuts his mouth. Yeah, he likes it. "Yes. It doesn't require more... holes than..." He takes the platinum staff and examines it. "It's hollow?"

"It can stay in for as long as you want it," Gabriel explains. "The bead comes off. If you need to relieve yourself." Gabriel breathes out heavily. "I could have you trapped for as long as I wanted."

Dean suppresses a small moan. He like it far too much when Gabriel plays with his cock. It's a little painful, pleasurably painful. Dean knows about sounding, of course, about how it can feel good to play with little tubes inserted in one's dick, but he has never tried it. Dean swallows as he thinks about the small piece of jewelry. It's the ultimate surrender, letting Gabriel have control over his cock, have it tied up and filled and decorated until Gabriel decides that Dean is allowed... allowed to come. _Fuck_. Dean is hardening by the mere thought. Damn. He hadn't thought anything like it would arouse him, but he wants it, he wants what Gabriel can do to him with it. 

"Mmm. And..." Dean likes the idea, likes that his body is Gabriel's to play with when he allows it. "And how..."

The jeweler coughs slightly and steps closer. "If I may?"

Gabriel nods his accept graciously.

"It is an item that is created, tailored for each individual customer due to the nature of its... location."

Dean was never slow on the uptake. "It means you have to finger my dick to measure it, right?" He lets his eyes rest for a few seconds on the young jeweler. The man is handsome. He is also a professional. It's going to be like going to the doctor. Except there is a flicker of desire in the other man's eyes; one that disappears instantly when Dean looks at him.

"It needs to be measured in both flaccid and erect state," Master Ion says, sidestepping the question. "To avoid damage, and to ensure that an erection is not prevented. If your... If Lord Gabriel permits, I—"

"No." The word is a whiplash. "Nobody touches Dean but me." Gabriel stares at the jeweler, a possessive hand on Dean's thigh. "He's mine!"

Funny how Samandriel and the maids are allowed access to Dean's body without Gabriel complaining. Then again, neither Samandriel, nor the maids have any designs on Dean's dick. "You're jealous," Dean murmurs in Gabriel's ear. "I belong to you; you don't need to be." It shouldn't, but it arouses Dean that Gabriel gets possessive. Dean looks from Gabriel to the young jeweler again. Maybe Gabriel wants to play if Dean suggests the _right_ game. "I think Master Ion likes the way I look," Dean whispers into Gabriel's ear. So what if he likes to be naked and having people look at him with lust in their eyes? "Why don't you show him?," Dean suggests. "All of me? You can measure what needs to be measured, while he watches and envies what you have." The surge of arousal is flushing Dean's skin. Yeah, he'd like that, being half-naked, Gabriel making him hard in front of that hot jeweler. Dean wants it, the desire, the envy. He wants to show that Gabriel has what no one else can have. "Come on, _My Lord_ ," Dean breathes, finding his new exhibitionist streak exciting. He lets his voice drop into a seductive whisper. "Please, Master? Wouldn't you like to have me right here, where everybody can see it, see that I'm yours. Only yours."

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Gabriel groans. "Yes."

Dean leans back in his chair, sending the jeweler a satisfied smirk. "Lord Gabriel's wish. Send your assistants away, Ion."

The jeweler looks as if he'd like to swear loudly too.

"Of course, sir."

*

Dean has overlooked the 'flaccid' aspect. He is half hard under the tunic, and he has to press the heel of his hand against his cock, thinking of Lord Alastair to bring his dick back to a state that is remotely in the vicinity of being limp. Master Ion kneels in front of him, a small silver tray in his hands. _Platinum_ , Dean thinks. _Silver is for plebes_. There are a few straight rods on the tray, as well as a bottle.

"You must use the oil, liberally," Master Ion instructs. "The thin rod first. If Mr Winchester is, erm, comfortable with more, use a thicker one. It must slide in by itself, no pressure." He points with a finger without touching. "As you see, there are measurement marks. Again, we will make a wand in a length that is comfortable for your... for Mr Winchester."

"You will stay there and oversee this," Gabriel demands. "You'll teach me just as you taught me the art of piercing. We do not want to hurt Dean, not more than he likes, at least. He is here to get everything he wants."

"Yes, My Lord." Master Ion nods. "I am at his disposal, and yours."

Dean knows that if he asked, Master Ion would touch him, and he is sure that Gabriel knows it too. Master Ion would bend over, begging for Dean's cock, and for Gabriel's. Master Ion is trying to hide his desire, but Dean can feel it coming off him in waves, so he knows that Gabriel know exactly what the jeweler is thinking too. Master Ion would gladly kneel, sucking Dean off, taking his come down his throat, service him at Gabriel's command. It's a heady sensation, having this kind of power. A handsome young man kneeling at his feet and one of Earth's most powerful beings wrapped around his finger. Yeah, Dean likes it.

He hands Gabriel his submission with a kiss. "Your turn," Dean whispers. "My Lord."

Lord Gabriel pulls his chair close. The small, elegant chair fits Lord Gabriel well, all gilded wood and precious silk. "Pull up your tunic," he orders as he slides a hand into Dean's hair, grabbing a handful of it, tugging at it playfully.

Dean doesn't turn to look at Lord Gabriel. Instead he keeps his eyes trained at the man on the floor, challenging, provocative. He does it slowly, sliding the fabric up, collecting it in one hand, crushing the jade silk into a small ball. Ion looks down, secretly stealing a glance or two at Dean's face through heavy eyelashes. Dean looks at him, licking his lips, knowing Ion will see it.

Knowing that Lord Gabriel will too.

The hard pull of his hair comes before the command. "Look at me." Lord Gabriel's voice is rough with need and possession. 

"Yes, My Lord." Dean is not going to fight. Oh no, he gets what he wants like this. He breathes in deep, taking in Lord Gabriel's scent. He's in Lord Gabriel's hands now, he can relax and enjoy as his master decides how far he'll let Master Ion go. 

"Loosen his pants. Do _not_ touch his skin," Lord Gabriel says, a bit more polite, not bossing Master Ion around. Master Ion is not his to command, and Dean is not offended. He doesn't need to be. He has set his part of the rules, and now it is up to Lord Gabriel to play within those lines.

Master Ion carefully undoes the ties and lets the loose pants fall open, revealing Dean's cock.

 _Alastair_ , Dean forces himself to repeat over and over, desperately trying to fall into the safe space that Lord Gabriel provides. He can't allow himself to get hard, not yet. No matter how arousing it is to be surrounded by so much desire, Dean has to conquer his own desires. They are Lord Gabriel's to have and to do with as he pleases, for now.

Dean concentrates on his breathing and on Lord Gabriel's warm hand on his cock. On the floor, Master Ion is smearing oil over the measuring rod. 

Master Ion holds the bottle. "You must rub some into Mr Winchester's slit," he says, choking on the words. "Then let the rod sink in, slowly, by itself."

The oil is pleasantly warm and Dean doesn't hold back the small moans that become insistent sounds in his throat. Lord Gabriel rubs over the head of Dean's dick, pressing his finger slightly against the opening. "Uh," Dean whines, and thinks of Alastair again. Then something cool and smooth and hard slides into him and it feels like fire and ice at the same time. "Oh, _High Lord"_ " Dean cries, arching up from the chair. It is as if Lord Gabriel has liquefied his own desire and poured it into him; it's like being fucked inside out. "Dammit, shit, fuck," Dean swears, eyes closed, body tense. 

"Deeper," Master Ion urges, slightly breathless. "As much as he can take."

Dean pants, trying to control his breath as the rod goes deeper, touching things inside him that makes him shatter entirely. "My Lord, fucking hell, please!" Dean whines as it becomes too much. 

"No more. Please wait, My Lord. There is the sound of something being written down on a Reader. "Pull it out now, gently," Master Ion advises. "We must try for thickness. Before Mr Winchester gets fully erect. I think one size up will do." 

Yeah, it will do. Dean cries out again as the new sound sinks into his urethra. It's bigger, he can feel it, it burns and electrifies and entices his cock, and this time Dean cannot take it quietly. He holds on to Lord Gabriel, fingers digging deep into his arm. "More," Dean demands, gasping. "You knew? You... oh... knew how good—" Dean whimpers and cries and groans as Lord Gabriel starts moving the rod, slowly, gently. Dean is sure he's going to die because every time the rod is pulled out it feels as if he's having an orgasm in slow motion.

"You need... Get him hard. " Master Ion is moaning softly, clearly deeply aroused. "I'm going to Hell for this. Get him... make him come, please, My Lord? In deep, and then... Oh, Heaven!"

Dean forces his eyes open only to see Ion on the floor, coming by the mere sight of Dean's half-naked body and his rod-penetrated cock. Everything is pleasure, deep pleasure and Dean knows he can't hold back much longer. "My Lord, let me?" Dean begs. "Let me come. Show Master Ion how it looks when I come."

"Dean," Lord Gabriel says, pausing, stilling his hand. "You are not allowed yet. Tell me how it feels first, then I might let you."

Dean needs to reach for that deeper level in himself to fight back the release. He closes his eyes again, trying to shut out the sound of Ion's muted moans. It's like a storm raging around him, and all he needs to satisfy Lord Gabriel is silence. Dean needs the quiet to think and to muster the power to let Lord Gabriel have everything he demands. "Like you're fucking my dick," Dean rasps. "It's frigging perfect. Now _please_ let me come."

Lord Gabriel doesn't speak, but he slides his hand down Dean's hard cock, rubbing it as he lets go of the rod. It sinks in, deeper than before, so deep it almost hurts, really hurts. "Now, baby, come," Lord Gabriel says, and pulls the rod up, insanely slow, drawing out both the pleasure and the rod in one long, mind-blowing go.

"Oh," Dean gasps, pulled up and pulled apart by the violent orgasm that tears at his body. It's a blaze of white-hot fire. He clings to Lord Gabriel as he comes, spoiling both his clothes and the chair he's on.

"Good boy," Lord Gabriel praises. "Perfect. No one could be more perfect," he tells Dean, calming him with tender kisses on his neck. Dean more senses than sees that Lord Gabriel reaches down, stroking Ion's cheek, finally acknowledging him. "Thank you, Ion."

They clean up quickly. Now that the deed is done, Dean things that perhaps he should feel embarrassed, but he is not. He enjoyed how far Gabriel wanted to go for him. Dean belongs to Lord Gabriel's, but Gabriel certainly is his too. Dean is satisfied in more ways than one.

Master Ion slips back into the role of esteemed master goldsmith and salesman. While Dean rests in the chair, sipping some of the ice tea that Gabriel left, Gabriel picks out a handful of charms and pendants. It's a wonder of colors and metals, pretty little things to dangle from the rings and chains. Gabriel also chooses two sets of heavy hinged cuff bracelets on top of the jewelry they selected together. He tops off the shopping spree with a generous selection of chains and platinum-twined saffian braids. 

Dean turns the bracelets in his hands while Gabriel writes his signature on the invoice. Dean hopes that the part of the number he manages to see is some kind of registration number and not the actual amount he's paying. Dean averts his eyes. He doesn't need to know, in fact, he'd much rather live in blissful ignorance. Instead he takes a closer look at the cuff bracelets. One set is simple and with a loop for chains or ropes. They have a padlock too. They're going to be useful, and their use Dean condones. The other set is the only piece of red gold that Gabriel has chosen. The bracelets are elaborately made, enamel and gems and engravings.

"Russian, 1870," Master Ion tells Lord Gabriel. "I kept them for you specifically, My Lord."

"They have no loops," Dean says. He's not sure he wants them to have, but they would look great with the thin chains Gabriel has chosen.

"Nor will they have. Lord Gabriel will have to use his powers to attach chains or ropes to them. I insist. I would rather keep them than to let them suffer such indignity as to have anything attached to them that cannot be taken away. They are too beautiful to ruin. Like Mr Winchester."

"I am ruining neither," Gabriel growls. "And if I hadn't known you so well, Ion, I'd have your ass."

"Wouldn't be the first time, _Your Royal Highness_ ," Ion replies, his face utterly innocent. He sends Dean a glance. "I assume those days are long over now, my prince?"

This time it's Dean's turn to feel jealous.

*

They leave the shop and walk out into the market's crowded streets. Dean is pleasantly relaxed, pleased. With Gabriel's arm around his waist, he lets himself be swallowed up by the onslaught of colors and scents, allowing himself to enjoy living in luxury. He can ask Gabriel for anything, and he'll have it, he's sure. Being an owned and kept man does have its backsides, but there are a few benefits too.

Transportation Street is one of the streets that Dean loves. Not that he ever had money to buy anything here, but this is where he has done most of the work on sandcars. Transportation Street has everything. Not aerostats and aeroplanes, though; there isn't room for them, but they can be bought here, just like horses and sandcars and pods and drones and boats. Anything that moves humans and goods across the sand and the seas, from one spot to another.

"Oh!" Dean stops outside a sandcar dealership. The Ghazell sandcar is synonymous with luxury; they're the top of sandcar makers. The colored hovercrafts are results of the finest craftsmanship, from the leather interior to the shiny chrome and the polished paint jobs. They are far from the sturdy galvanized beetles common people buy; the paint doesn't stand against the sand for long. Dean is almost impossible to drag away from the window; and Gabriel pulls at his arm to make him.

"Moment," Dean says, in love with the big black sandcar in the window at first sight. She's a beauty.

"Yes?" Gabriel steps back up to Dean and looks at him instead of the sandcars, encouraging him to elaborate.

"It's a '67 Impala," Dean breathes, falling even more in love. The black surface is flawless and the chrome polished to a shine that rivals the diamonds they've just bought. "Ghazell Impala... I didn't think there were any left. 2067 was the best year, and..." He stops his dreamy praise of the sandcar.

"We'll take it. It'll go well with you when you're adorned with black enamel and platinum." Gabriel smirks. "And the back seat is large enough to have you on it, naked. That's going to look good on you too."

"No, Gabriel, you can't—"

"What? I'm not allowed to give you gifts? I can, and I will. I got the jewelry I wanted, and now it's your turn, baby." Gabriel signals to one of his guards. He hands him a small card. "Have the shop deliver it to the Sky Palace by tomorrow; papers in Dean's name."

Dean sends the car, his car, a last longing look. "You _do_ know I'm not with you for the money," he says, halfway serious, halfway surprising himself that his life suddenly is worth a joke.

"Same," Gabriel says, pulling Dean into a kiss. "I took you because you're low maintenance."

"Thank Heaven I'm that easy," Dean tells Gabriel into the kiss. "I don't care to think about what you'd have to go through if I was troublesome."

"You're nothing but trouble, Dean, and I wouldn't have it any other way." 

Dean sighs and makes a perfect copy of one of Sam's trademark bitch-faces. "I recall someone who told me that he wanted someone sweet and pliant and submissive."

"I clearly didn't know what I was talking about," Gabriel admits. "You're exactly the way I like you." He pulls Dean into a deep kiss, disregarding the slight spectacle they're making. 

Finally Gabriel let go, dragging Dean with him down another street. That one is the furniture-makers' street, and some of the elaborate displays make even Gabriel's palace look poor. Everywhere they go they are noticed, even here, in the middle of this butterfly throng of billionaires and Forever-Lord nobility. It's the kind of attention Dean could be without, strangely enough, seeing how much he liked being naked in Gabriel's arms, showed off to Master Ion like the prized possession he is when they are playing games. Dean shrugs it off. One of the perks of lost rights: he doesn't have to behave human. He decides to stop caring.

They walk into the center court, a huge plaza with a fountain in the middle, food stands and restaurants littered around it. 

"Pie or ice cream?" Gabriel asks. "I want coffee."

"I want both, _and_ coffee," Dean demands. "Strawberry."

"You little hedonist, you," Gabriel teases, making Dean chuckle. As hedonists come, Gabriel is the epitome of one. "Find a table, I'll go get you that pie; there is a stand on the other side of the fountain that makes the best pie on the globe. Shoo!" Gabriel waves Dean away, the guards trailing after him as he disappears to get the promised strawberry pie.

"Hey!" Dean glares at the guards as they walk away. All right, so he can sit here for five minutes without being attacked or abducted. Dean looks around and finds nothing threatening, apart from a couple of teenage girls giggling and blushing as they point at him. It's not as if it's the first time since he stepped into the Cage, wearing nothing but a pair of ripped, cut-off jeans and a substantial amount of oil smeared over his upper body. Women likes him. Sadly for women, Dean is turning into men. Man. Forever-Lord. Whatever-Lord. Gabriel.

Yeah, Dean is very much into Gabriel.

The guards realize their mistake when Gabriel turns around, staring furiously at them. Dean smirks. That should teach them. He doesn't pretend to have everybody enamored with him, and not all the guards are on with the program, he knows that. Samandriel was too honest not to tell him when he asked. 

Dean sighs, allowing himself to mourn his lost freedom for a few seconds as he watches his master. It becomes more and more clear to him that he been free, he'd have pursued Gabriel, had he ever had the chance. As it is, it is still not an option. Dean can't stay with him, not if he wants to keep his self-respect intact.

He is yanked back to reality by a touch, a bony hand on his shoulder.

"He can't care much for you when he leaves you alone for everybody to take," a voice whispers, a cold, disgusting hiss shattering the warmth of the wonderful day, sending icy strains of fear down Dean's back. The hand claws at Dean's arm. It hurts.

Dean tries to yanks his arm back. He tries to squirm, turn around, but can't. The grip is too powerful. "Let go, or I'll kill you," Dean growls, buying time to think. "You're not going to get away with this, not here."

"I know, Dean." Alastair's voice slithers smoothly around Dean's skin, making it crawl. "And I enjoy the thought of what I'm going to do to you when I have you in my palace. I enjoy the anticipation. I merely wanted to share it with you."

And like that, he is gone. 

Dean forces down bile and nausea, vaguely registering the guards who surround the table he is clinging to. Gabriel's anger is overwhelming, whipping up wind into an inferno of flying tables and smashed chairs, the square is ruined before Gabriel's arms finally are around him. 

"Dean? Dean?" Gabriel is desperate. "What happened?"

"It was never Alastair's intent to take me," Dean says. "Not today. He wanted this, exactly this. Driving _you_ over the edge, making _me_ fear him so that you are using time on me instead of keeping him out of power." It was a provocation, Dean is not in doubt. He doesn't know that much about Forever-Lord politics, his reading is not extensive enough, but he knows that Gabriel and his father, the High Lord, cannot afford to disturb the delicate balance between the factions. If they do, they risk the kingdom, making an opening so that Lord Alastair and his slew of sadistic minions might get in the stab they need to take over. Alastair is sicker than Dean thought, but oh, so clever. 

"Take me home," Dean begs, holding on to Gabriel and to Gabriel's anger that surrounds him like an armor. "Please, take me home." For the first time since Gabriel bought him, Dean feels threatened. And it is not Gabriel who is the cause of it. As he is taken through the void, guards and explanations left to Samandriel, Dean clings to the safety that is Gabriel.

*

"I'm going to kill him. Even if it starts a war, I'm going to kill him," Gabriel rages, sending a mahogany table crashing into the wall at gale force. "I'm going to decorate my Christmas tree with his intestines!"

It's not that Dean doesn't share the sentiment, he does. He'd gladly help Gabriel rip Alastair's guts out and make balloons of his lungs. Before he continues to put loops through Lord Alastair's eyeballs so that they can hang nicely on the tree. Dean doesn't need encouragement. But right now, more than anything else, he needs Gabriel. The spot where Lord Alastair touched Dean is crawling with disgust; there are scratches where nails went through the tunic. It burns. Dean's skin is too tight with the disgust he feels. "Gabriel?"

Nothing happens apart from yet another gust of wind and a violent, very local cloudburst that spreads across the hall. Dean tries again.

"My Lord Gabriel, _please_! Don't let him destroy you! This is what he wants, he wants you to lose control and make a spectacle out of yourself. Stop. Before you conjure a storm that kills somebody."

That makes Gabriel pause. Gabriel might be rash, but never stupid. He stands quietly for a while, panting heavily. 

"Done with your interpretation of _Hulk, smash_? Because I could use some support here," Dean growls. "I do not want to have the memory of that man's touch on me for a moment longer, and when I'm done scrubbing my shoulder and arm clean of it, you're going to heal the bruises he made. Understood?" He cocks his head slightly, raising an eyebrow, demanding an immediate answer.

For the first time since Gabriel bought him, Dean sees Gabriel entirely at a loss of what to do. He's at a loss for words, for emotions, for movement. "Gabriel?"

It's a lost kid who looks up at Dean. "I cannot bear the thought of losing you."

There are seconds of heavy silence. Then Dean steps forward, cupping Gabriel's cheek in a caress that is strangely possessive, as if everything between them is reversed in that moment. "You will _never_ lose me to Lord Alastair. I'd kill myself first." It's not what Gabriel means, but it is what Dean has to give. It's all he has to offer. He would like to swear that he never leaves, but it would be a lie, and Dean would not disrespect his lord and master by lying to him. Not about something as important as that. Dean doesn't make empty promises.

Dean's words matter, still. They seem to fill Gabriel with a deep calm, a quiet and a silence that he needs to take back the control he lost. "Thank you, Dean," Gabriel says, once more pulling Dean into his arms. "I'm sorry," he whispers into the skin of Dean's neck. "You need me, and I forgot myself."

"'s all right," Dean mumbles, stroking Gabriel's back. "I'm fine, I'll be fine when we..." Dean stops the lie before it's out. It's a habit. _I'm fine, Sam, I don't want to talk about it._ "No. I'm not fine," he finally says. "I want to shower, and then _you_ are going to make me forget what happened." Dean knows what he wants from Gabriel. He needs to be allowed to fall into the deep submission he likes so much; he needs to be taken into the silent room he creates for himself when he gives Lord Gabriel full control of his body. Dean wants Lord Gabriel to demand silence from him, to demand his passive, subservient obedience. He wants Lord Gabriel to invade him, to do with him exactly what he pleases, leaving Dean as nothing but a leaf in the storm that is Lord Gabriel, moving where the wind wants it to go.

"I want you to tie me up and mark me," Dean demands. "I want you to erase Alastair entirely."


	7. Destroyer and Preserver

Dean returns from the shower, feeling marginally better. He's a big boy, and he doesn't scare easily; that's not it. He was approached at a time when neither he, nor Gabriel were properly prepared and alert. They had forgotten for a while, both of them, that life in the Sky Palace is nothing like life on the outside. It is not going to happen again; Dean has learned his lesson. Next time, if there is a next time, Lord Alastair won't meet two relaxed men out for a day at the market. No, he'll meet Dean Winchester the Cage-fighter, and Lord Alastair won't escape unscathed. If he ever tries to get to Gabriel again, Dean will _destroy_ him. 

With that resolve, it's about all the energy Dean cares to waste on the Lord Alastair and his attempt to ruin them both. 

On bare feet, Dean walks through their bedroom to the living room. Gabriel is sitting in one of the comfortable chairs, fully clothed. Samandriel might have returned right after Dean left, because the room is pristine, all debris gone. A fire is burning in the fireplace. Dean wants to ask if Samandriel is all right, but now is not the time. He is no longer just Dean, and Gabriel is no longer Gabriel. Gabriel is _Lord Gabriel_ and Dean is his to play with. Later... later he'll ask Samandriel if he's OK. Dean is not too worried: he is sure that Gabriel would not be here, playing, if their beloved squire was hurt or traumatized. Gabriel cares deeply for Samandriel, Dean isn't in doubt. Dean does too. He really likes the boy. Samandriel is the only person who never treated Dean with anything but respect.

With a sigh, Dean pushes all his worries and annoyances away, determined to give himself up to Lord Gabriel and to the game that calms them both. 

He steps forward, eyes averted, hands on his back. He sinks down in front of Lord Gabriel, slowly, trying to please his master with every movement of his body. He takes the position Lord Gabriel has taught him and perfected, legs spread, hands on his back, back straight. He doesn't speak, his actions have spoken for him. He is Lord Gabriel's to do with as he pleases. 

"Perfect." Lord Gabriel strokes Dean's cheek before he tilts his face upwards. "I'm going to heal you before we continue. Your flawless skin must stay flawless." 

"Yes, My Lord." Dean wants the last traces of Alastair's touch to evaporate, disappear. Even the minor bruises are an offense to Dean and to his master. "I want to be perfect for you," he says quietly.

Gabriel puts his hand on Dean's shoulder, letting it slide down to the spot where Alastair's disgusting fingers dug into him. When Gabriel removes his hand, the bruises are gone. "You are always perfect," Lord Gabriel says, making Dean smile. "Always."

"Thank you, My Lord." Dean leans forward and kisses Gabriel's hand. 

"It is my duty to you, Dean, in return for what you give me. To keep you happy and well." Lord Gabriel smiles, too, as he sits back in the chair. He presses his palms together, fingers spread as he rubs his hands. "Let's continue to more interesting tasks. Tonight I want to mark you for pleasure as you requested," Lord Gabriel states. "It will be like this: you may tell me if it becomes too much — without repercussions. Tonight you may speak when you need to; you will not need explicit permission, but I want you to stay quiet and respectful. I will not punish you if you honestly want me to stop, and you _will_ tell me if I ask too much. I'll have you know that Master Ion taught me the art of piercing; I'm good at it, and I won't harm you. No more than necessary."

"I know you will not harm me, My Lord. I trust that you will do nothing to me that is not for your pleasure and therefore my pleasure as well," Dean replies formally, offering his master the politeness he deserves. 

"Very well. Give me your hands," Lord Gabriel says. He takes the set of simple, heavy bracelets he purchased for Dean earlier. The padlocks are open. "Put them on and offer me your submission."

Oh, Dean likes that. There is something fundamentally arousing in giving himself up to Lord Gabriel, and this is a new and wonderful way to do so. He likes the formality of it, as if his surrender is a ritual to be honored and cherished. Respectfully Dean takes the bracelets and wraps them around his wrists. The padlocks are small, but they are strong, real padlocks that will hold Dean to his promise to Lord Gabriel. "My Lord," Dean whispers and holds out his arms so that Lord Gabriel may inspect the bracelets.

Stroking Dean's hands, Lord Gabriel nods. He points at a box on the side table. "Take a chain with snaphooks. Go to the desk. Lie down, hands over your head, legs spread wide open for me."

"Yes, My Lord."

Dean gets on the desk that Lord Gabriel has cleared for the occasion. There's a soft towel spread over it, and Dean appreciates the concern for his comfort. Any other day, Lord Gabriel might have tested his obedience and pliancy by leaving him to lay on the cool, smooth mahogany, enjoying Dean's attempt at staying still on the cold surface. He lies down on the desk, the silvery chain cold in his hands, dangling heavily, making a soft tick-tock against the desk's sturdy frame as he puts his hands over his head so that Lord Gabriel can tie him up.

It takes time before Lord Gabriel approaches, time enough to make Dean impatient. Dean knows that he is not supposed to question his master, so instead he concentrates on his body's reactions, on the slow throbbing of blood in his dick, the sensation of fireplace-warm air that seems to blow in Dean's direction all by itself, keeping him comfortably warm. Lord Gabriel can be subtle. Dean hangs on to the gratitude he feels towards his master, always seeing to his needs. Slowly Dean submerges into the quiet of need and want, his thoughts narrowing into what little Dean needs to think of for the next few hours: Lord Gabriel's pleasure.

Finally Lord Gabriel decides it is time. "The chain," he says and takes it when Dean let go of it. Lord Gabriel attaches the chain to the bracelets, pulling at them, making sure Dean is tied up good and tight.

"Ready, Dean?"

"Yes, My Lord." Dean opens his eyes, wanting to let Lord Gabriel see his deep desire for him. "I am here to please you."

"I know, and I am very satisfied with you," Lord Gabriel tells Dean before he leans over him, licking at one nipple.

Dean makes a small whimper, wanting more. Lord Gabriel has a wicked tongue. 

"What do you want, Dean?" 

"Bite them. Please, My Lord. Suck—" Dean swallows a moan. "Suck them."

"And then what?" Lord Gabriel asks, playing with an erect nipple between two fingers. "What would you like me to do if I allowed you the power to decide?"

Marked. Dean wants to be marked. "The rings. Please, Lord Gabriel. Master." Dean's lust overwhelms him. He wants the signs that tell him that he belongs to Lord Gabriel—not because Dean was once sold to him, but because they both want Dean to belong to him. Dean hates the torc, but the rings they chose together? Those, he wants. He wants them in his skin as a constant reminder that Lord Gabriel will never let him come to harm. "Piercings, please?"

"Say it, then." Lord Gabriel pinches Dean's nipple enough to make it hurt, enough to make it good. "Tell me who you belong to."

"Yours. I'm yours." This time the words are right. It is right that Lord Gabriel puts his marks on him for everybody to see. Dean is Lord Gabriel's until the day he is given back his freedom, and the piercings denote the kind of ownership that Dean likes. He _likes_ being marked as Lord Gabriel’s property by choice, and it scares him almost as much as it excites him. He knows. He knows that Gabriel, his master and his lover, is under his skin, like the piercings will be, knows that if things had been different he'd been lost.

He would have fallen in love.

Dean can't think about that now, can't think about how everything they have together will come to an end. He needs to be here, now, this instant. He needs to live the moments they are allowed. The future is outside their reach. Dean concentrates, forcing his mind to be here, present. "I belong to you," he says, reaching out for his master with words and submission. "I want—" 

Lord Gabriel's pinches send an electrifying tingle through Dean's nipples. It almost makes him come on the spot; it's like concentrated pleasure, inflaming his skin with need. Lord Gabriel bends over Dean and kisses him on the mouth, slowly, slowly. With the kiss still on his lips, Dean sinks into the silence of his desire, waiting for Lord Gabriel's next move, eyes closed. 

"Take a deep breath, let it out slowly, relax," Lord Gabriel murmurs. "Hold still."

There is a sting and an icy slide of cold metal through skin. Behind closed lids, Dean lets himself float on the slight pain until the second sting, worse now that he knows what's coming, makes him groan. The healing, some kind of otherworldly magic, heats up his skin, warm and good and gentle. Then there are lips on his, a tongue in his mouth and pleasure, so much pleasure, as Lord Gabriel touches the rings he has put through Dean's nipples. Healing, arousal, lust. Lord Gabriel does nothing but to heal Dean and kiss him and still it feels like his entire being is sinking into a melting pot of sensations. The pleasure spreads. Quietly, while Lord Gabriel ravages his lips with another violent kiss, Dean comes, his orgasm a slow, lazy wave pulling him with it, making him moan softly into Lord Gabriel's scorching kisses.

Finally Lord Gabriel lets Dean breathe properly. He moves a bit, admiring his work. "Look," he says, gently stroking Dean's chest with a finger. "It suits you." 

Dean lifts his head enough so that he can get a look at his pierced nipples. Adorned with platinum and black enamel, Dean wants to touch them, but they are Lord Gabriel's to play with, and he's still chained to the table. "Thank you, My Lord."

"You enjoyed it," Lord Gabriel says, a satisfied smile on his lips as he runs a finger through the little pools of cooling semen on Dean's stomach. It's the best reward Dean can get. His master is pleased with him.

"Yes, My Lord, very much." Lord Gabriel's healing powers helped, sure, but Dean liked everything about the piercing, even the slight pain. Being healed immediately makes it better, though, because then Lord Gabriel's pleasure remains the target of Dean's attention. It's all he needs, all he needs to worry about: his lord's urges. "Thank you, My Lord." Dean means it. 

"So, my beautiful pet, are you ready for more?" Lord Gabriel presses a kiss to Dean's shoulder before he moves his hand further down, down between Dean's spread legs. "Here," he asks, rendering Dean unable to give a coherent reply. Lord Gabriel plays with the ring in Dean's right nipple, tugging at it lightly, sending yet another lightning of arousal though Dean's body. 

Dean simply moans, loudly, all his need concentrated in one moan.

"I take that as a yes," Lord Gabriel says. "You're such a perfect toy for me."

"Thank you, My Lord." Dean can't get enough of Lord Gabriel's praise. It's so simple what he does, so easy to do what Lord Gabriel wants him to do, and yet his master is so happy with him. Dean wants to tell Gabriel how easy submission has become for him, but it is outside the confines of their game. Heaven, he loves it so much, the praise and the way Lord Gabriel looks at him when he's especially satisfied, as if Dean is the most important thing in the universe. That, seen from Gabriel's point of view, certainly says a lot. Reining in his emotions, Dean relaxes again. He pulls lightly at the restraints, the extension of Lord Gabriel's power over him. 

Lord Gabriel moves between his legs. "Spread. More," he demands when he doesn't find Dean's position satisfactory. He pulls Dean cheeks apart, studying his ass for a while before he lets a fingertip slide over Dean's hole. "I'm going to fuck you later, when we're almost done," Lord Gabriel says. "I'm going to put something in you now, fill you up, make you ready. Would you like that, baby?"

Dean's cock twitches, awakening, Dean's body giving Lord Gabriel an honest answer. 

Lord Gabriel slides the finger inside, barely. "Good. I hadn't expected less from you. You like it when I play with your ass, don't you?"

It isn't that Lord Gabriel expects an answer, so Dean doesn't give him one. Instead he moans when oil is poured over his hole. Then there is something pressing into him, slowly, very slowly, just as Dean likes it, widening him, forcing him open for his master. The thing is wide enough to cause Dean a little discomfort but he likes that too. It is Lord Gabriel's right to demand that he endures that discomfort. Dean could take more, much more for his lord if he had to. But 'enough' pleases them both. Dean is grateful. Lord Gabriel never demands more than he is ready to give. Lord Gabriel made that mistake once and Dean doesn't count on it to happen again. Dean has learned that he has a responsibility too, to never let his master push him too far. Dean has the right to refuse what he cannot endure. It is his duty.

"Keep it in, Dean, until I wish to take you." Lord Gabriel kisses Dean's inner thighs, bites and licks at his skin, playing a little with the plug. It's not enough for Dean to get fully hard again, it's merely Lord Gabriel feeding his arousal little tidbits to enjoy. Still Dean moans and mourns the lack of contact when Lord Gabriel finally stops teasing him.

There is a pause. Dean can hear Lord Gabriel pour water into a bowl. Dean doesn't look. He is fine, lying here, entirely at Lord Gabriel's mercy, succumbing to whatever his master wants to do to him and when. Dean smiles, floating on anticipation. Finally Lord Gabriel touches him again. It's the sensation of a soft washcloth and hot water over his skin and it makes Dean sigh. Lord Gabriel cleans him carefully.

A knife slides over Dean's skin, sharp and cold. He shivers. He likes the thought of thin blade, likes the possibility of getting hurt if he moves. It keeps him still, as still as ropes and ties would have done. Cold blade, warm water, hard steel, soft strokes and hands. Punched by the arousal the thought provokes, Dean makes a choked moan and tenses, pulling at the chain that keeps his hands tied above his head.

Between his legs, Lord Gabriel lets out a content sound. "I want to keep you like this in the future, shaved naked and bare, so I can see the piercing properly whenever you spread your legs for me."

Dean is so with that idea. He imagines how he'll look, when this is done: shaved skin, chains attached to the piercings, adorned with all the precious gems and metals that Lord Gabriel bought for him. It arouses him even more. 

Lord Gabriel wipes off the excess soap and cleans Dean up. 

"Turn over, baby," Gabriel demands. "Up on all four, spread your legs."

Gabriel helps Dean position himself, his genitals still damp and sensitized from the shaving. It's not easy, turning over, with his hands tied to the desk. His nipple piercings rub against the wood, little diamonds drops on the dark surface. Dean shivers again and takes in a shaky breath. Heaven, this arouses him more than he’s willing to admit. He doesn’t get time to think about it, though. Gabriel spreads his cheeks and leans in, sucking at Dean’s balls before he moves up, licking around Dean’s asshole, making Dean moan and squirm under his tongue's wet swipes over the plug-stretched rim. 

"Lord Gabriel. please?" Dean whines, impatient. He wants Gabriel's tongue on him, or in him or hands or anything that gives him pleasure. He's so damned needy, his entire body singing with it. He wants Lord Gabriel to pinch his nipples and pull them, wants him to put the ring in his dick, wants the pleasure he's been promised. Now.

"Patience, Dean." Gabriel moves behind Dean. He presses a finger into Dean's perineum, scratching lightly, slowly moving up and down until Dean groans. His hole quivers; Gabriel is massaging the exact spot that usually makes Dean hard instantly because it feels so damned good to be touched there, between his hole and his balls. Dean's asshole twitches, dilates, around the plug. 

"Fuck, give it to me!" Dean can't hold back, and he knows he's going to pay for the outburst later, but that's all right; it's so good what Lord Gabriel is doing to him. 

"Take a deep breath, exhale," Lord Gabriel demands, and before Dean has finished taking in enough air, the odd warmth from Lord Gabriel's magic penetrates him at the same time as the cold, hollow needle. The sensation of the ring though his skin and the immediate healing have Dean on the edge of orgasm before he manages to take another breath. The tingle of pain, a slight burn, combined with the light stroke of Lord Gabriel's fingers are enough.

"Oh, shit!" Dean curses, tense, unable to hold back, the orgasm lurking to slip out of him along with the next breath he takes. 

"Come," Lord Gabriel demands, demanding Dean's release at the exact right moment. Dean is convulsing in pleasure, splashes of come staining the mahogany desk. He can barely stay on all fours, the orgasm violent, cruel in intensity. Behind him Lord Gabriel makes a hiss, as if he's trying to hold back. "Heaven, Dean." Then there is a hand on Dean's hips, an arm underneath him, supporting him until the tremors of pleasure finally stop. "You're going to be the death of me," Lord Gabriel murmurs, soothing Dean's dizzy mind with gentle kisses. "And it'll be a beautiful death."

Dean pulls the chain. "May I touch you, My Lord?" 

"Soon, my love." 

The surprising endearment should make Dean's blood run cold, make him wide-eyed with fear of commitment, but instead he cloaks himself in the tenderness that Lord Gabriel shows him. Still supporting Dean, Lord Gabriel releases him, allowing him to turn around, into his arms. Lord Gabriel holds him, and Dean melts into the embrace, his arms around Lord Gabriel's neck. He doesn't protest when he's more carried than led towards the low couch. 

"Come on, baby, let's get you cleaned up a bit before we continue."

"Thank you, My Lord." The couch is soft, and Dean's legs are about as useful as the legs of a jellyfish. He really doesn't care to stand when he can lie down. 

Lord Gabriel summons a servant to poke the fire, and yet another servant to fetch hot water and something to drink for Dean. Content and close to happy Dean relaxes, his mind wandering.

At some point his thoughts drift dangerously close to the events at the capital square. There is no way that Dean will let Lord Alastair have that kind of power over him, disturbing his time with Lord Gabriel. Dean's freedom and his power are too precious to him. He _allows_ his power to be taken away, he gives it as a precious gift to someone he trusts. The only thing that Dean ever wants to give Lord Alastair is a bullet from a gun or a stab with a sword. Dean refuses to entertain the notion and pushes the idea into the back of his mind, instead concentrating on the pleasurable task of being fussed over by Lord Gabriel.

Stretched out on the couch, Dean falls into the quiet of exhaustion and satisfaction as Lord Gabriel takes care of him, wiping sweat and semen off his body, kissing everywhere he reaches. Dean is content and warm. He sips the sugared tea that Lord Gabriel offers him, the taste of jasmine pleasing, quenching his thirst. When Lord Gabriel finally joins him, Dean cuddles up to him like a sleepy puppy, yawning, the plug inside him preventing him from drifting off entirely.

"You want to go to sleep?" Gabriel murmurs the words into Dean's hair, muffled little noises. Gentle, firm strokes makes Dean's heartbeat calm, sleepy, too. "You had enough?"

No, Dean doesn't want to go to sleep. He wants more. They are not done yet, not before every mark they have planned together is pierced into his skin, ensuring him that he belongs to Lord Gabriel because they both want it that way. Being tied to Lord Gabriel matters, especially now, after Lord Alastair's attack. It is safe and good and satisfying. Gabriel's power is immense and immensely attractive, if only because Dean knows it is his to share.

"No," Dean says, forcing himself awake. He doesn't want to slip into the real world, he wants to stay into this small cocoon of safety and pleasure. Of simplicity. "No, I haven't had enough. I want."

" _What_ do you want, Dean. Tell me." 

Gabriel kisses Dean's neck, nibbling at the skin less than gently, and the sharp little stabs of pain make Dean return to the confines of their game, the place where all he has to care about is to please Lord Gabriel.

"I want to give myself to you," Dean says. "I want you to take me. I want the last piercing. I want it done. I want to have you all over me. In me. Please, My Lord?"

"It is after all your purpose to satisfy me, so I'll allow it," Lord Gabriel says. He pulls back a little, his eyes turning cold and hard, beautiful like ice, and Dean knows that he, too, wants to return to their game, to the space they create together. 

"Thank you, My Lord." Dean turns over, getting up on all four, kneeling. He puts the blankets away, drapes them over the couch. 

"Put the pillows there." Lord Gabriel indicates the back of the couch with a nod. "Fetch me iced water and my tool box." 

Dean hurries to do as he's told. He leaves his worries behind, sinking into the satisfactory task of pleasing his master. He gets the small metal box where Lord Gabriel keeps the rings and needles. Never before have Dean found such pleasure in providing the means to his torment, to his pleasurable pain. He returns to the couch, finding Lord Gabriel leaning against the pillows, half-hard as he plays with his cock, looking hungrily at Dean. 

"Hands." Dean holds them out, letting Lord Gabriel loosen the chain that keeps them together. "Kneel on the floor on all fours. Ass up," Lord Gabriel demands. "Spread your cheeks wide."

With his cheek resting on the cold floor, Dean does what he's told. He needs to concentrate on counting the marble tiles; he cannot allow himself to get hard, not yet. Not until Lord Gabriel allows it. Despite two orgasms, Dean's cock stirs again as he reaches back, presenting his ass to Lord Gabriel. 

It becomes even more difficult to stay calm when Lord Gabriel pushes the plug in deep, playing with it until Dean surrenders a hoarse moan. Only then does Lord Gabriel pull out the plug, leaving Dean empty and vulnerable, oil dripping from his open hole. 

"Up. Kneel on the couch. Take your position, hands behind your back." The orders are curt; Lord Gabriel tolerates no dawdling. Dean assumes his position with some difficulty: the couch is softer than the floor and he fights to find balance. Lord Gabriel will have none of it. Almost brutally fast he reaches behind Dean and hooks the chain into the eyes of the heavy bracelets. "Here!" Lord Gabriel pulls Dean into his lap, one bent leg on each side of him. He rubs his cock over Dean's hole.

Dean is open and ready. Cleaned only enough to make him comfortable, his ass is a dirty, inviting mess of dripping oil. Lord Gabriel's cock slides into him, slow and deep, in one long relentless slide. Dean takes the hard cock with ease. He is relaxed, slick with the lube that runs down his legs as he is impaled on Lord Gabriel's dick. It feels so good and Dean squirms as the long cock touches places inside him that makes him want to move more eagerly, for pleasure and for the pleasure of teasing Lord Gabriel.

"Stop, or I'll make you kneel all night," Lord Gabriel hisses, his hips thrusting upwards involuntarily. "Sit still." 

Dean knows that his own cock to be flaccid for this, or the piercing won't be perfect. But Lord Gabriel groans so nicely when Dean takes him up the ass, to the hilt, and again Dean can't stop himself from undulating his hips, squeezing around the hard length inside him. Nothing arouses Dean like Lord Gabriel's arousal.

"Dean."

It is probably the only warning he'll get. He stops. "Yes, My Lord," Dean says, caught between the need to please and urge to tease. He chooses obedience.

"Patience, pet." Lord Gabriel reaches for the ring and a curved needle. "Kiss me," he demands and Dean leans down, pressing his lips to Lord Gabriel's mouth. The kiss is soft and lazy, deep and good. Lord Gabriel strokes Dean's dick, the warm tickle of whatever power it is that Lord Gabriel uses to make the otherwise painful act turn into pleasure-pain. "Ready?" Lord Gabriel asks, his lips moving over Dean's.

Yes, Heaven, he's ready. If the Prince Albert is going to feel half as good as the other piercings, he is so, so ready for more. "Always, My Lord."

"Sit back a little," Lord Gabriel demands. "Look at me."

With his tied hands behind his back, Dean does as he's told, presenting his cock as appealingly as he is able. Lord Gabriel wants to see his reaction, and Dean doesn't hold back. He has no right to hold back; his suffering and his satisfaction belong to his master. When the pain comes, Dean lets it overtake him. He whimpers, mouth half open, his fingers tightening around Lord Gabriel's thigh. The gentleness and the icy cool touch of metal soothe him even as the ring slides into his slit, through flesh. It's not pain like in the Cage; it's a caged heat, lust put on hold, ready to be released at Lord Gabriel's order. Dean doesn't look down. Instead he closes his eyes. His cock throbs in Lord Gabriel's hand. He gets off so hard on being taken and possessed and marked by the man he has given leave to take him. 

Dean bites his lip, forcing his arousal down, trying not to get hard at the warm tingle that intensifies now that Lord Gabriel is done hurting and instead heals. Lord Gabriel cups his balls, massaging them lightly. Lord Gabriel's dick twitches inside Dean, fueling his need. 

Dean is convinced that he has been patient and obedient long enough. He opens his eyes, looking directly at Lord Gabriel. It almost constitutes a challenge. "Fuck me, please, My Lord," Dean begs shamelessly, eager to please his master, especially if it pleases his master to fuck him senseless just about now. He gets hard faster than he thought possible, the sight of the heavy ring adorning his dick incredibly arousing. "I need you to fuck me so hard it hurts!"

Lord Gabriel's strength should worry him, but right now it is exactly what Dean needs. He needs this kind of violent claiming, he needs Lord Gabriel's power and ownership stamped into his mind and on his body. He needs the confirmation that he belongs here, with Lord Gabriel. He wants confirmation that Gabriel, his lover, is going to keep him safe and protected and loved. And Dean likes to be thrown down, taken, desired. Like that, Lord Gabriel's power builds a wall around them, and being inside it, Lord Gabriel's arms around him, Dean finds the only place in the universe that is safe and true, all pretense cut away, all feelings except for pleasure and trust gone.

Wrapping his hand around Dean's cock, rubbing his thumb over the pierced head, Lord Gabriel thrusts up, the other arm around Dean's waist, fucks him hard, slamming into him, almost throwing him off his lap. A gust of desert wind, warm and wild, ravages the room, turning over the desk, making Dean gasp and startle, not that it stops Lord Gabriel from fucking into him even harder. Lord Gabriel is losing it, and Dean loves it. _He_ did that. He made Lord Gabriel fall apart, he made him lose control.

Searching for the calm to counterbalance Lord Gabriel's savage abandon, Dean rides Lord Gabriel's cock, trying to set a rhythm that allows them to draw out the inevitable, leaning forward to lick and kiss at Lord Gabriel's neck. "Master, please, calm down. Master, let me ride you, calm down. Let me give you pleasure, let me give myself to you," Dean murmurs. He supports himself as well as possible, getting up on his knees again, trying to stay still through Lord Gabriel's hard thrusts, his hands resting awkwardly on Lord Gabriel's thigh. Every little touch of his cock, every movement makes Dean's arousal flare. The ring through the head of his dick presents a heavy, unfamiliar pull. It does things to his libido every time he as much as breathes. He's going to spend the rest of his time with Lord Gabriel in a constant state of arousal, he's sure. Fuck, it feels so good. Of course his master was right, the piercings are damned erotic.

Lord Gabriel slows down, but Dean can feel his control slipping again. Lord Gabriel gaps as he buries his hands in the soft pillows, crushed into ruin by his otherworldly strength, sparing Dean's skin the bruises. Lord Gabriel breathes out heavily, the air above their heads turning into little clouds that confront each other above their heads. Electricity flickers and a lightning hits a statue which splinters, making them both startle before desire overtakes them again. 

"Want you so badly," Lord Gabriel whispers, "Don't leave me. Mine, all mine," he says, his head turned away, as if Dean is not meant to hear. "Need you."

Dean wants to say yes, to promise that he won't go, that he will never leave. But he can't. He doesn't have the right to take that decision; he has no freedom to do so. There is one thing that Dean knows is true after what they have done, he can't deny it: no matter what happens, no matter where they go, there won't be anyone else for him, no one like Gabriel. He is forever spoiled.

No, there will never be another man for him.

"I'm yours," Dean says, and for the first time it sounds like a vow. "Let me be yours." 

"Heaven," Gabriel murmurs, his face contracted in deep pleasure. "Dean!" Gabriel's fingers dig into Dean's flesh as he comes, strangely quiet, as if the orgasm is too overwhelming. St. Elmo's fires dance on the top of the bedposts, vivid blue and violet as Gabriel empties himself of tension and desire. His erratic breathing slows; it becomes deeper and calmer. It takes a minute or so, Dean waiting, stroking Gabriel's thigh where he can reach with his bound hands. 

Finally Gabriel comes to life. "Fuck," is all he says. 

"Mmm." Dean nods. "I'm just that good."

"And cocky." 

Dean looks down at them, at his own cock and at Gabriel's half-hard dick is still buried inside him. "Not wrong there."

Gabriel closes his eyes again. He tilts his head back and chuckles, slightly short of breath. "You—"

"I know. I'm adorable." Dean wants to laugh and kiss and fuck some more, because it _is_ just that good, all of it. 

Gabriel looks up at him again, and this time he looks very awake, and very mischievous. "My turn," Gabriel decides, and throws Dean down on his back without any warning.

"Shit," Dean growls as his shackled wrists are pressed into the mattress. "Get me out of these, you ass!" he hisses, with little venom. "Now, Gabriel!"

Gabriel laughs. "Of course. Anything the master of my heart demands. Luckily I can punish you for it later." 

"I'm not sleeping on the floor tonight!" Dean states, leaving no doubt that he means it.

Gabriel helps Dean sit. The chain is off in a second, and Dean's arms are around Gabriel's neck instantly. Dean takes the kiss as if it's his to take, and Gabriel doesn't fight him. On the contrary. Dean enjoys Gabriel's compliance, taking the opportunity to ravish his mouth, sliding nails down his back, hard enough to make Gabriel whimper. Suddenly Dean is overtaken by a need to be the one to decide what they do, as if the connection between them has strengthened, as if the marks have changed Dean, given him some of Gabriel's immense power to wield. Gabriel yields. Dean pulls back. "Come on," he says, biting at Gabriel's lip, teasing him. "Make me come!" he demands.

"I don't know," Gabriel says, drawing out the words. His eyes are glittering with mirth. "Maybe I'd rather have you do all the hard work yourself."

Oh, no. Dean will hear none of it. He'd like to lead, but Gabriel _is_ going to work. "Gabriel, come _on_ ," Dean urges again, "I want to come! Now!" 

"Bossy," Gabriel says, rolling his eyes. "As I said, high maintenance."

Although Dean is used to be thrown down and manhandled in the Cage, the speed and strength that Gabriel possesses is incredible. Dean is on his back on the couch again, his legs pushed up and Gabriel's lips around his cock, sucking him down, tongue pulling at the ring in his cock almost before he understands what's going on. Dean makes an undignified moan, and pulls Gabriel down on his cock, wanting it as deep in Gabriel's hot mouth as humanly possible. Gabriel's hand is working his own cock, he's aroused again, inhumanly fast. Rapid strokes and jerks, moans that vibrate around Dean's cock are pushing him towards his limit. "Look at me," Dean demands, brushing his fingers over his slightly sore nipples. Tryingly he pulls at the rings. "Gabriel, look at me. Fuck, it feels so good."

With Dean's cock in his mouth, Gabriel looks up, a burning lust shining in his eyes. Gabriel looks as if he is ready to come from the mere sight of Dean playing with the rings in his nipples. Gabriel drinks down Dean's come, as much of it as he can take. Some of it drips down his chin, down on the silk Keshan underneath the couch. Dean cannot bring himself to care. He's done for. Sex with Gabriel has been good from their first time, but now it's not just good. It's _amazing_. Dean knows with a deep certainty that he'll never have better.

Gabriel lets go of Dean's dick, wiping his mouth, none too elegantly. "Told you," he says. "You need to learn to trust me."

Dean reaches down, caressing Gabriel's cheek. He's exhausted and half-asleep already, spent and safe and close to being very happy. "If that's the kind of lessons you teach, I'm in," he says, opening his arms for Gabriel when he gets back up on the couch. "And who says I don't trust you already?"

*

"It has arrived, My Lord." Samandriel holds out a silver tray with a set of keys on it. "Dean's sandcar."

Dean is up from the breakfast table immediately. "My Impala?" He sends Gabriel a quick glance, just checking that it's all right that he puts everything else on hold for her. 

Gabriel nods. "Gimme your hand." He reaches for Dean, and he takes a step back, out of reach.

"You are _not_ going to take me through the void. I can walk to the courtyard, thanks." The void makes Dean dizzy and uncomfortable. "I'm not that much in a hurry to see my girl."

Gabriel gets up. "Let's walk down to look at your new toy, then."

"If you're allowed to have toys, so should I," Dean says, jittery, eager to get his hands on the car of his dreams. "You're sure that... that she's mine? To keep?" Somehow all the precious gems and clothes that Gabriel has given him doesn't mean anything; Dean never counted on taking them with him — they're not really his, just something that comes with the job, Gabriel will probably want to keep it all anyway; it's a fortune. But the sandcar? That's different.

"You do know the implications of accepting a gift?" Gabriel asks, slipping his arm around Dean's waist as he walks towards the door. "It means that you're actually going to keep stuff I offer you. Like everything else I've given you, she is yours to do with as you please."

Somehow Gabriel's words make Dean feel warm and cared for; he isn't merely a dress-up doll for Gabriel to play with, despite Gabriel's habit of buying him revealing tunics and expensive trinkets.

Dean turns a little as they walk towards the stairs, kissing Gabriel on the cheek on the way. 

"Yeah, I know. I'm adorable," Gabriel says and tightens his grip around Dean's waist.

The Impala is perfect. She is black and shiny and the magnetic drive and the engine are in pristine shape. Dean can't stop touching her, caressing her voluptuous curves lovingly. The seats are leather and they smell of beeswax. They're polished to a shine that match the sandcar's shiny exterior. Dean checks the dash, tries out the key and turns the ignition. His new baby purrs like a content cat and Dean grins as he presses the speeder down, listening to the motor's roar. He fiddles with the handbrake, considers asking whether Gabriel would allow him outside the walls to play, despite the recent threat from Alastair.

"I think we should try her out, right now," Gabriel suggests, maybe sensing Dean's impatience. "A trip into the desert; I know of a few beautiful spots not too far from the capital where we could stay if you want. Nobody ever goes there; people in the capital don't travel much; to them five hundred miles is an insurmountable obstacle. We could drive back to the Sky Palace from there, staying in all the interesting places on the way home. I'll have Samandriel pack tents and food for at least two weeks." Gabriel points to the clear February sky. "The weather is good, so it'll be pleasant. You can test her properly out there, top speed and everything, there's no one to hit for miles."

"Hey! I know how to drive a sandcar," Dean growls. "Just get in and I'll show you." A trip sounds good. Dean suspects it's not going to be anything like the camping trips that he and Sam went on a few times during their childhood.

Gabriel confirms it by leaning in to whisper into Dean's ear. "And nobody will hear you scream in the desert. I'm gonna fuck you until you beg and cry for mercy. Would you like that, too?"

Dean closes his eyes and moans. That should be a satisfying reply.

"There is something we need to do on the way," Gabriel says, and Dean knows immediately that he's been lured into something he is not going to like very much. 

"Out with it." Dean turns his head. He is not going to complain before he knows what it is. "Why didn't you say so in the first place? You don't have to promise me trips and shit."

"Oh, I want to take you into the desert with me, big boy, and do naughty things to you." Gabriel squeezes his hand. "Don't even begin to think I won't like having you all to myself in a secluded place. I really, really want that. The detour we have to take is not to my liking, either, but I can't allow us to forget that I am still my father's son."

"So what is it?"

"Since we are traveling anyway, we are going to make a public appearance at the capital market today. A noticeable one. I'm going to have my entire entourage with me. We need to go through the void too, cars and trucks and everything, sorry about that, but timing is important. It has to be now, before someone thinks he has succeeded. Alastair didn't scare me, and he needs to see that. We're getting lunch at the main square, and there will be a few journalists and cameras present."

A jolt of anger and disgust races through Dean. The reminder of what happened yesterday on that particular square is an immediate mood-killer. "Why?" It sounds like unnecessary complications.

"Because. Because we need to throw in Alastair's ugly face that there is no way he's going to have an impact on what I do, who I want, and most importantly: on how I feel about you. I have to make an appearance to show that I'm above his petty games. He needs to see that I trust you and care for you enough to let you have the freedom you want. I need him to understand that I am behind you, and that any attacks on your health or dignity are attacks on me. And I certainly need to show him that if he thinks that he can launch an attack on my father through you, I won't let him. I am not ashamed of you, and if I stand beside you, my father stands beside me. Believe me, Dean, I do not take this lying down, because no one, _nobody_ , touches my man without his explicit wish or consent. It is politics, yes, and I cannot let Alastair think he made you afraid and me angry. But on the bottom line it's me, standing up — for you." Gabriel cups Dean's cheek, looking at him with a fierce, possessive look. His eyes blaze with a fierce fire. "I will _kill_ Alastair if he touches you again. No matter the consequences."

Dean nods, once. There is nothing to say to that. He can stand his own, but he is strangely pleased that Gabriel will stand with him.

*

Lunch is quiet, except for the press. Dean isn't quite able to ignore them yet, the cameras and the attention, knowing that his face (and his status) is talked about and analyzed all over America, and the rest of the world for that matter. It isn't the first time that Dean has the press's undivided attention, but it's the first time since he lost the Cage that the attention has been this extensive. Usually he tries to avoid the pictures and the articles and the speculations about his life in the Sky Palace—thank the High Lord for blockers that keep the Reader's newsfeed clean. Having cameras shoved in one's face, being asked for comments makes it a bit hard to avoid being in the public eye.

Gabriel's guard (another one, the soldiers serving yesterday have all been replaced by older, more experienced men) are blending in, but Dean sees them. He isn't nervous, not really, but admittedly yesterday's encounter with Alastair had been... unexpected. Unexpected enough to shake him. They both need to remember that the threat isn't going away just because Alastair didn't follow through with a real attack.

The media vultures are circling the table, kept at bay by the guard as Dean and Gabriel are served the second course, sea bass with beluga, lemon cream sauce and black rice. Gabriel is keeping the mood and the conversation light, like the meal.

"We could bring the horses," Gabriel says. "Samandriel can take them in the truck, shouldn't be a problem; I'd enjoy taking you for a long ride."

Dean stops, fork in one hand, a piece of sea bass speared on it. "I'm sure you would, you pervert." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Gabriel laughs, carefree and happy. Whether it's pretend happiness or not, Dean doesn't know, but it serves their purpose. _Their_? Dean feels pleased at the thought of _them_. They have become a unit, a team, and he sort of.... likes it. Gabriel reaches for Dean's free hand. A camera goes off in the background. "What do you think they'll be writing about us. About this?" Dean wants to know.

Gabriel doesn't reply right away. Instead he gets up, both hands on the small table. He leans over it and kisses Dean on the mouth, a slow lingering kiss that makes Dean sigh. He grabs a handful of Gabriel's hair, keeping him in place as they kiss until Dean thinks they're done, not giving a fuck about the journalists. "They are going to speculate," Gabriel says, his lips brushing over Dean's, "whether I am in love with you or not."

"And are you?" Dean asks before he can stop himself. He'd rather live in blissful ignorance. He is liked, cared for, cherished, but he prefers not to be more than that. Love is a complication. He has five months left, and deep feelings are in the way. "No, don't tell me, I'm just going to be disappointed." Gabriel is never truly serious anyway, he likes playing; he's like a small golden cat with a mouse at times. He merely likes Dean as a friend with benefits, that's what there is to it. They like each other a lot, that's all Dean wishes to know.

"Maybe I'll tell you one day." Gabriel's smile is fading. "If you ask me again."

Maybe he will, maybe he won't. Maybe Dean doesn't like the sad look on Gabriel's face. Maybe he chooses to ignore it. Maybe it is wise to change the subject before any of them says something that ruins the day irrevocably. 


	8. In Sleep Old Palaces

A dessert and a quick interview with national television later, Gabriel signals for Samandriel that they are leaving. Thus having demonstrated—at least in theory— to the one person they performed this entire charade for that they do not fear him, they leave the square, taking the fastest way out. The Impala and a small fleet of sandcars are waiting for them, under discreet surveillance from the palace guard. Gabriel's soldiers seem eager to prove themselves: they are efficient, fast and quiet. 

It seems like Gabriel's entire household has joined them, including horses, hounds and a few of the maids and their children. Samandriel is driving a gigantic magnetocraft transporter that Dean has to admire for a moment before they get into the Impala. "We're leaving for the desert right away, then? I mean, you don't want to take the road as far as possible?" Dean asks.

Gabriel nods. "Element of surprise. Nobody has had the opportunity to plan ahead and plot against us as it is. The only reason that Alastair found us last time was because of the paparazzi; this time... I don't think he dares. He'd know we're prepared. If he has someone spying at us, I thought it would be easier to see whether we are followed if we took off from here, since nobody expects us to go off road instead of taking the direct way through the desert to the Sky Palace. So, yeah. Desert. In ten minutes."

The brief midwinter rainfall has left the road into the desert lined with colorful little flowers and merrily chirping birds. It has been too long since Dean has been out here; he rarely needs to take to the desert, not when he has Gabriel and Sam to take him through the void. He'd still rather have an unsettled stomach than to travel four, five, six days through the burning hell during the unbearably hot summer months. Late winter and early spring are pleasant, though; the temperatures are nice. They only have to watch out for the hurricanes, sandstorms and the occasional cloudbursts. Sure, traveling with Gabriel minimizes the risks of being caught in a hurricane; but Gabriel is only a demi-god, not the High Lord himself: he does master the weather, but he makes mistakes, too. The climate is a worthy adversary, but a damned unpredictable one.

They reach the border between precious farmland and the vast plains of the desert. The road continues inland, across the rocks. At their right the desert takes over. Dean fires up the magnetic fields and pulls the lever to bring up the wheels. The Impala answers him readily; she's all lubed up and smooth as butter. Her engine roars as she slides from the road into the sand, her magnificent body moving elegantly but quickly across the dunes. Gabriel reaches over and turns on the old radio; strangely enough the dated piece still works. It's some classical channel, blasting a tune that informs them that the singer _can see Paradise by the dashboard light_. Dean hums along, enjoying the music. Gabriel's arm slides around his shoulder. Dean follows the sun's lead, a line straight south. Rolled-down windows let in a pleasant breeze, and Dean sighs in satisfaction. He likes this, the ease, the freedom, the time he spends with Gabriel away from their gilded cage.

A few hours later the fleet of sandcars turns northeast while Gabriel urges Dean to take the Impala across the cliffs and into the heavy dunes, testing her limits. Like Dean knew already, his baby handles herself well, like the perfect lady she is. She takes the steep drops slowly, and rises to conquer any wall of rocks in her way with a deep growl, showing them that the lady has claws and teeth too.

As the sky turns pink over their heads, they return to the caravan, Gabriel directing them to a small oasis, wanting to set up camp. Of course Samandriel has managed to have the tents up and ready, just like there's a pen for the horses, and sleeping quarters for the servants. A generously large trailer, parked so far away from Gabriel's pavillion that it is barely visible, gives them a believable illusion of actually being alone.

The tent is a cliché, something out of an old movie about sheiks and Arabian nights, but Dean loves it. It's definitely Arabian nights, without the lack of sleep and too many boring stories. Heavy velvet embroidered in gold. Silk gauze. Low couches with pillows strewn across them. A bed might be buried underneath another pile of purple and red and dark brown pillows. Small round tray tables. Plush antique rugs, and a pair of Gabriel's beloved hounds lounging lazily on yet another pile of pillows. Dean strokes the hounds on their heads as he passes by, and they glare at him as if he is beneath them. Well, he can't take a rabbit or a deer full speed in less than thirty seconds, so he supposed they've earned the right. They are specialized killers, despite their delicate exterior. Dean likes them. The brief wag of a tail from one of them tells Dean that the two elegant creatures aren't entirely adverse to reciprocate.

"It is beautiful," Dean tells Gabriel as he steps up next to him, sliding his arms around Dean's waist. "It's very you. Flamboyant."

"And here I thought I was being... modest." Gabriel gets up on his toes and kisses Dean on the mouth. "I like camping."

"This is not camping. It's you, showing off," Dean growls and kisses Gabriel back until they are both out of breath. "You're incorrigible."

"Contrary to you. You are very... corrigible."

Dean is about to do something nasty to Gabriel when Samandriel steps inside the tent. "Your bath is ready, if you'd please step outside, My Lord, Dean," Samandriel says, waving servants forward to take their clothes. Naked, they walk outside, the sand still warm under their bare feet.

Where Samandriel has procured hot water enough to fill the luxuriously large tub, Dean has no idea. Better not to ask; he probably can't wrap his mind around the reply anyway, since it surely involves some kind of Forever-Lordly magic-fu.

Gabriel is already in the tub when Dean sinks into it. The warm water sloshes over his nipples and he is suddenly very aware of his new piercings. His nipples peak.

"Exactly what I hoped for," Gabriel says. "Feels good?"

Dean nods, feeling his face heat up. "Yeah." It feels awesome, and Dean has to suppress a need to pinch and pull at the rings. "Are we playing or not?"

"Not. Or rather we are." Gabriel studies Dean's nipples without touching them. "We're going to play with those later, and I'm probably going to tie you up, but I'm not going to ask for your submission. I'd like to try out a few things, make you look all pretty. I have jewelry to decorate you with. I wanna have fun and I don't want any mistakes of mine to ruin your trip into subspace. I mean... we're testing. What if do something to you that you that you didn't know you wouldn't like? So no playing tonight, not really. You okay with that? That we're taking _you_ for a test drive? Before we do anything more serious with those rings?"

Dean laughs. Yeah, he's definitely okay with another test drive. Dean definitely noticed the enhanced sensitivity of his nipples, but he hasn't had time to explore the effect of the piercings more thoroughly; they've been too busy for that. "Sure. Sounds good."

Samandriel serves them wine and fruit. Dean leans back in the tub, relaxing. It was a great idea to go here. He feels better. He likes that they are alone, or that they will be when the servants return to their trailer. Looking up into the darkening sky, the stars blinking above, Dean is at peace. He spreads his arms, tilts his head back and watches as the night takes over, nothing left of the light but the clear stars and the bonfire outside their tent.

They use an hour or so, soaking in the tub. The servants fetch more hot water, keeping the tub warm until Gabriel finally decides to get out of it and into the tent.

The nights are still cold, but hundreds of candles are lit, and the temperature inside the tent is comfortable.

Gabriel leads Dean to one of the soft couches while Samandriel fetches a box that he places on the carpet-covered ground. Dean eyes it suspiciously.

"Jewelry, a few new tunics and robes. Chains." Opening the lid, Gabriel takes what looks like a cobweb interwoven with silver and diamonds. It's a thin robe, transparent, apart from the silver embroideries. "Thought the robe would go well with these," Gabriel says and slides a finger over one of Dean's nipple piercings. "Try it on."

Dean lets the thin fabric slide over his arms, Gabriel helping him. It's silken-soft and does nothing but to cling to his body and make him look good. Gabriel holds the mirror in which Dean studies himself. The nipple rings are clearly visible under the fabric.

"Open it again." Gabriel puts down the mirror and pushes the robe apart, free access to Dean's chest. "I want to see what you look like with these on." He digs into the box and finds some of the chains they purchased at the market. With a handful of chains rattling in his hand, Gabriel cups Dean's jaw and holds him there as he kisses him, slow and wet and deep, a sensual kiss that makes Dean's dick stir between his naked legs.

Finally satisfied with Dean's compliance Gabriel takes one of the chains and attaches the little hooks at the ends to his nipple piercings. It is difficult for Dean to stay still, the tugging arouses him too much. Tryingly he leans back a little, feeling the stretch and the exquisite, sweet pain as Gabriel lets him play with the chain.

"Good?" Gabriel asks. "More?"

"Yes." Dean's voice is hoarse. He knew it would be good, and the hunger in Gabriel's eyes makes it better. "More."

Gabriel reaches down to stroke Dean's cock. He's not hard yet which seems to please Gabriel. "On your back," Gabriel demands, gently pushing Dean onto the couch. He sinks into a heaven of deep pillows and soft velvet. "Spread for me."

Dean spreads his legs, wondering what Gabriel has planned for him. Gabriel leans forward and kisses Dean's stomach, licking into his belly button before he takes another chain and hooks into the small ring between Dean's legs. He makes a muted mewl as the weight of the chain pulls at his perineum, teasingly good and cruel at the same time.

"You know," Gabriel says, "that during the Victorian times when tight breeches were in fashion, the Prince Albert was used to tie the cock to one's leg so that it couldn't get hard and reveal hidden desires."

"No!" Dean's arousal fades, not because the story appalls him but because he certainly wants to be allowed to enjoy his erection tonight. "Please?"

The cruel smile that Gabriel sends him is not exactly promising. He tugs lightly at the chain attached to the guiche. Dean moans and tenses, hands clutching at the pillows. It feels so good.

"I want to tie you up like this," Gabriel murmurs, "leaving you helpless and needy for a day. Use time to make you aroused, watch you suffer for me, desperate for release."

He fiddles with the chain and the ring that adorns Dean's cock, sliding the cool chain over it, until Dean squirms to get away. It is arousing to think about it, think about how pleased Gabriel will be with him if he endures a full day with his cock chained. The thought in itself is delicious torture. Dean moans. "I want to try. But not tonight."

"We have time," Gabriel says and releases his hold on Dean's dick. "I promised you. Tonight we're testing things and I want you hard too." Gabriel attaches the chain to Dean's cock anyway, leaving the chain loose enough for Dean to get fully hard without any jewelery ruining his erection. The chain is loose enough just to tug lightly at his cock. "Hands off," Gabriel demands, and Dean obeys him because he wants to. Gabriel attaches the end of the chain to the chain that runs between his nipples, tight enough to stretch them a little. "Turn over, I want to fuck you," Gabriel orders, sliding a finger down the chain, pulling it gently. Dean hisses, arching up from the couch, the one tug sending little jolts of pleasure through him. It is as if his entire body has become hyper-sensitive. He didn't think the piercings would make his arousal go from zero to sixty so fast.

"Not much play in that." Dean doesn't protest any further because right now he'd beg to have Gabriel's long cock in his ass and his fingers clutching at his hipbones possessively.

Gabriel helps him turn over. The chain is heavy enough to make Dean feel it, really feel it, every time the chains swing. He is hard and halfway into an haze of arousal before Gabriel's fingers are in him, slick and slippery with oil. Every little move goes straight to Dean's cock, if nothing else, then because the ring and chain tug at it all the time. It's perfect. Caught up in new sensations Dean barely registers that Gabriel has finished, pulling out the two fingers he has used in Dean's hole. The benefit of being used and fucked and opened at all times, Dean muses briefly: he is always ready for Gabriel to fuck him.

"Ready?" Gabriel asks. "Damned arousing to see you like this, love what it does to you, baby." Gabriel lines himself up, rubbing his cock over the piercing behind Dean's balls.

"Gabriel!" Dean cries; the sensitive spot between his hole and his sac has turned into a pleasure-switch, and fuck, has Gabriel just turned it on! "More!"

Fingers dig into Dean's hips as Gabriel pushes inside accompanied by the squelching sound of too much oil. Dean is ready to get it hard, they have fucked so much lately that it takes little preparation to get him there, only a few slow slides in and out, before Gabriel can move properly. Heaven, he loves it so much when Gabriel fucks his ass hard and fast. Gabriel might have picked up on Dean's thoughts because he pulls out, almost all the way, before he slams in to the hilt, hard, his hips pushing Dean forward. Then Gabriel's hand is on his neck, unrelenting.

"I told you I was going to fuck you until you screamed," Gabriel whispers, his voice slow and soft and sweet. "Now scream." He slams in, setting a brutal pace almost immediately.

Dean cries out; it hurts, it hurts so good. Behind him, Gabriel shiver as he fucks Dean harder than he has ever been fucked before. Fighting not to lose it and send the tent into the stratosphere by accident, Gabriel uses his need to fuck Dean into the mattress. Gabriel's hoarse, helpless moans inflames Dean's lust; it's brutally exciting to be taken like that, it's simple and honest. Raw.

The chain that runs from Dean's nipples to his dick swings and pulls and tears at him. Every time Gabriel rams his cock into Dean the chain swings, his cock bobs, his nipples are pulled. It's an overwhelming onslaught of sensations. Gabriel's one hand is holding Dean down, the other has a possessive, harsh grip around the hill of Dean's left hip. From time to time, in between gasps and filthy curses, Gabriel uses his mouth to press tender kisses onto Dean's back, a stark contrast to the ruthless fucking.

And Dean screams. He lets the sounds leave his throat unattended, uncensored. The cries are raw lust, raw need, no holds barred. It's pleasure and pain, it's frustration and fear, and most of all it is him, pleasing the man he wants so badly that there are neither thoughts, nor words to express how much. There are only primal, pure sounds, a purgatory of molten, confused urges that Dean can't, nor won't put into something intelligible.

He comes with Gabriel's cock buried deep inside him, Gabriel's unhinged moans in his ear.

*

The two weeks Gabriel has planned for their holiday pass by far too quickly. When the first week comes to and end, Gabriel learns that Alastair has fled the capital, not because he has done something illegal as such, but probably in fear of Gabriel's retaliation. It makes Dean pleased to hear of it. Knowing Gabriel, he'd be worried, too, if he were Lord Alastair. Unfortunately for Lord Alastair, Gabriel is going to enjoy the dish called revenge even when it is served cold, Dean is certain. At ease, the imminent threat of attacks gone, they simply enjoy their little vacation.

They ride and hunt, they explore the desert, accompanied by the two quiet and lanky hounds that share their tent and their food. Seeing that the hounds catch them rabbit and an occasional sand-deer, it is a fair deal. They race each other, too, Dean almost one with the gorgeous car that Gabriel gave him. Gabriel manages to wreck a $500,000 Kudo Tailwing in a deep dune, and he laughs, telling Dean that he'd much rather have an Impala if they can find another. Kudos are crap anyway, only WAGs and drug dealers have them. And Gabriel, obviously. Dean doesn't mourn the loss of the expensive piece of bling-decked shit.

The servants pack or unpack, set up the tent, or break camp while Gabriel and Dean simply enjoy each other's company, leaving everything else to the servants and Samandriel. Gabriel swears that he is going to give all of them a considerable bonus for their hard work when they return to the palace.

For the first time since Dean left the Cage the ever-present heaviness of being sold and bought is lifting. He is having fun, good, clean fun, and it is obvious that so has Gabriel. Well, at times the fun is not so clean. At times it is decidedly dirty and good. In the night (and a few times during the day) they have sex. Sometimes they play, sometimes they don't. Sometimes the tenderness and intimacy between them reach another level, a level that Dean won't put words to. It's in those small moments in time, in the silence of the desert and the solitude they find under the stars, that their quiet kisses speak more than words.

It is those moments that make Dean doubt his resolve to leave Lord Gabriel and the Sky Palace when he is free again. When everything else, riches and luxury, are gone; when there is only the two of them, the pure, undiluted truth of their relationship is that Dean doesn't want to let go of what he has.

He wants it; High Lord, he wants it so bad. 

He wants Gabriel so bad.

At times his need sings in the back of his mind, ignored and repressed, an alluring, muted siren-song of _lovelovelove_. Of course it isn't love; they are _lovers_ , Dean is willing to go that far. Friends. Almost equals. Everything else is merely mirages; they are in the desert after all.

Yeah, mirages.

Like mirages, the unsettling feelings disappear when the heat of the moment have evaporated and the cold reality of everyday life tugs at them both.

Their last day in the desert is hot, hot, hot and it makes Dean wish that the last stage back to the Sky Palace was shorter. The sun is hot enough to have the air shimmering, creating illusions of lakes and forests and sweet, shadowy oases in front of their eyes. Spring is here, early, the sweltering heat still on a low simmer, sneaking up on Earth, waiting to devour it when summer comes with its roaring storms and blazing sun. Spring also denotes Gabriel's return to work; being the Lord of Tempest comes with great responsibility, Dean knows that now.

Gabriel is not just an immature being with too much money and too little restraint. No, he is working to save humanity, Earth, at any cost. Dean admits that it earns Gabriel the relief and rest he takes when there is any to be had.

Sitting in the car, the day dying in front of them, Dean knows with a deep certainty that he is ready to stand by Gabriel, giving him support and strength to go through the ordeals that storms and floods create for him. Dean realizes that maybe he has changed as well. His worldview has changed, his priorities. It makes Dean drive on, silent, with Gabriel's hand in his, one hand on the wheel, thinking about how they—Gabriel and he—have turned into _them_ and _they_ and _theirs_. 

It should have frightened him, but it doesn't. They are in this together.

Whatever 'this' might be.

The Impala roars and climbs the edge of the valley, hovering over the rocks and boulders as the sun sets behind them. The cool night air blows away the illusions of castles and cities, clearing the road that leads to Gabriel's castle. Dean sighs in relief; he likes the clarity of the night better.

In the horizon the Sky Palace perches on a cliff, like the nest of a stone eagle. The spires reach for the sky, the last sunlight making the palace's glazed stone roof shine like gold. Dean smiles. He stops the Impala, wanting to enjoy the sight of the beautiful, ancient castle. It's asleep now, quiet, because Gabriel is not there, but soon, in a few minutes, it will come to life, stir in its Snow White-sleep. 

It hits him: he has missed it.

"We're home," Gabriel says.

Another whiff of cool night air clears Dean's mind.

"Yeah," Dean says. They are.

Home.

*

It has been an eventful winter, and when spring finally takes over it is as if they made a silent agreement, Gabriel and he: every time Gabriel is home, they fall into a slow, delightfully calm kind of domesticity. Dean thinks that Gabriel might need it as much as he does; late winter and the early spring are the only times of year that don't keep the Forever-Lords busy balancing Earth's sensitive equilibrium.

Another sensitive balance is the balance between Dean and his lover. Dean uses that term now. Lover. He likes it. He is certain it's the run-in they had with Alastair that did the trick; they are no longer opposing each other, not like they used to do. They are together, working together. Dean is ignoring that he is Gabriel's property, and Gabriel doesn't mention it. Gabriel has stopped being an ass, but he has not lost his sass, not that Dean would want him to. He enjoys it when other people are the target of Gabriel's snarky sarcasm and snappy jokes. Dean really thinks that they've both grown up a little, matured. Maybe they are simply getting used to each other and the life they have created together.

Dean has never thought he could live with anyone but Sam, but he likes life in the Sky Palace. Gabriel is damned hot, their sex is scorching and their deal is so much to Dean's liking that it scares him at times. Apart from the lack of freedom it is everything he'd ever wish for. But _Heaven_ how he gets off on handing control over to Gabriel for a few hours.

Out of bed Gabriel treats him like his equal. Dean is no longer in doubt that Gabriel has a plan for him. The amount of books, files and documents that Dean is asked to study so that he is able to discuss them with Gabriel is staggering. So is the level of information and secrecy. Every other piece of paper that Dean picks up, and the main part of the files he opens on his Reader have _Secret, For Your Eyes Only_ or _Confidential_ written all over them. Dean is able to get the gist of it: Gabriel trusts him and since half of what Dean reads is state secrets, so does the High Lord. Yeah, Gabriel has a plan. Dean thinks that Gabriel might be planning to place him in some public office or other, although he can't for the love of the High Lord figure out why. 

Dean knows that he's not stupid, but he's a fighter, not an administrator.

There is nothing to do but to wait. Dean could ask, but they don't do that. It's easier to let it go until Gabriel think it is time. Gabriel will tell him then, Dean is sure.

Dean is appreciated in ways he has never experienced before, and it makes him content. He might be in chains, but it doesn't feel like it unless he attempts to pull them. The torc doesn't come off, he can't have his rights back until August comes around, he can do nothing to protect them that Gabriel isn't already doing, nor can he undo the rules of the Cage. Gabriel is fighting the Council in vain: the High Lord won't change the law as long as Lord Alastair has strong supporters. The dark side is going to rebel if they can't have their perverse entertainment. 

Dean has seen the light: there is no reason to take out on Gabriel things that are out of their control. What Dean _can_ do, is to assist his lover and educate himself in all matters that Gabriel finds useful so that he can be of actual help.

Oh, and he can spread his legs for Gabriel whenever he wants it. Which happens to coincide beautifully with when Dean wants it.

Sex gets better the better they get to know each other. Dean is going to miss it. He has never had a better or more attentive lover. Yeah, he's going to miss it. Along with all the other things about Gabriel he is going to miss when he leaves the Sky Palace for good. If Dean is to be honest, he dislikes intensely the thought of leaving Gabriel, but there is no way around it: it's the only way Dean can keep his self respect and the respect of others. They don't talk about it, and Dean doesn't want to think about it, either. He wants to enjoy the last few months living in the lap of, well, Gabriel. He doesn't care shit about the luxury—he can do without.

He's becoming increasingly sure that the one thing he can't do without is Gabriel.

Their relationship is beginning to look damned much like a real relationship and Dean likes everything about it, except that it feels that way.

They don't talk about that, either. Why would they? It works, and time flies because they are both busy with work and with each other. Being fourth in line to the throne is damned hard.His mischievous little Lord Gabriel actually is working his delightful ass off on a regular basis. Nobility is hard earned, at least when it includes saving people from the raging weather.

The weather rarely leaves them time to do more than making love, study and tame tempests. But it happens.

"Let's invite our family and friends, just a small dinner," Gabriel suggests one day, the forecast promising steady and sunny for a week. "Lucifer and Sam. Benny and his kids and wife? We could ask them to stay for a few days. If you want to, that is."

Dean is damned sure that slaves and playthings don't get to invite their loved ones to anything, nor do they attend parties instigated by their owners, and Gabriel's suggestion is the sole thing, the one event that suddenly breaks him beyond repair.

*

"Has he told you about the spring ball yet?" Sam folds his napkin neatly and places it on the table. His plate is empty, not surprisingly, the lamb was fantastic. "Not that it's big news."

"Er," Dean says and sends Gabriel a quick glance. "No?" Dean scratches his chin distractedly. "Why? There is one every year. May first. We've been unfortunate enough to watch the live coverage once with Bela. Total proof that the woman is made from pure evil." Dean snorts derisively. The memory makes him laugh, still. "It was the year when Lord Michael got drunk and lost his pants in front of thirty million viewers. I suppose that might be the backside to being in the public eye all the time."

Gabriel is smirking. "I had absolutely nothing to do with that. I never spiked his wine with vodka. I never went into Michael's chambers and changed the drawstring in those pants with one that was meant to break, nor do I keep the original string as a dear memento." Gabriel makes an attempt to appear entirely innocent but fails spectacularly. He takes a piece of bread and wipes up the remains of sauce from his plate, pretending not to see Sam's expression.

"You didn't?" Sam looks scandalized for a moment before he laughs loudly. "I'm beginning to like you. Lord Michael is—"

"Entirely without humor and he has a stick up his butt the size of Empire State Building?" Gabriel chews and swallows, winking at Sam.

"That," Sam says, nodding. "And he's boring like fuck."

"I'm beginning to like you, too, Sammy." Gabriel pours more wine for Sam before the servants manage to do so.

"And what a dear thing that is to man. That you get along, that is," Lucifer says. He looks down his nose at Gabriel. "Are you taking Dean to the ball or not?"

Dean is not going to any ball, that's for sure. "Wait, no! I'm... I'm not frigging Cinderella. If Gabriel wants more servants to go with him he can take Samandriel!"

Gabriel and Lucifer both laugh and look at each other funny. Dean feels offended. He isn't aware that he has said anything that deserves those looks. 

"To be _presented_ at court, Dean, Gabriel says. "I haven't asked because I was sure you'd tell me exactly what you just told me."

"I'd like you to be there," Sam says, interrupting additional arguments before the begin. "We're no Forever-Lords, and Lucifer can't... They can take us, but we can't be a part of the official... He's going to bring me anyway." Sam's face turns sad for a moment. "You know as well as I do that no Forever-Lord has ever taken a human companion. Officially."

"It's not forbidden," Dean says. "Is it? I mean, nobody complained when Gabriel kissed me on public TV."

"It has never been done," Lucifer adds, inscrutable. "I'm not sure what will happen." He reaches for Sam's hand, a comforting touch. "People are used to Gabriel doing all sorts of odd shit, but me... I'm..."

"Wait, I'm Gabriel's illicit affair, and still he wants to show me off at court? It doesn't make sense." Dean doesn't know what to think about it. It's a case of politics, he supposes. Gabriel cannot afford to look weak, and flashing his debauchery—parading Dean in front of the entire court—certainly directs the attention to other matters.

"It's not like that," Gabriel says, earning himself a glare from Dean for the sneak peek into his thoughts. "I am not ashamed of you. I would like you to come with me. I didn't think that you'd mind demonstrating to the world how great your power is."

Dean chuckles. The sound is bitter in his mouth. "I don't—"

"No." Gabriel cuts him off immediately. "You have more power than you think. Stop thinking about your status as shameful or low. Perhaps to others it might seem so. Let us show them a different interpretation, baby. Imagine yourself in your finest tunic, chained and adorned with platinum and diamonds enough to feed a small country, so handsome that everybody who sees you wishes they were me, wishes that you would be willing to give them what you have given me willingly. Imagine them despair because you are the only man able to make me lose my mind. Imagine yourself wielding that power in public, demonstrating that even tied up and showed off, your power is so strong that all you need to do is to flutter your eyelashes at me, and a royal prince is at your service, entirely at your command." Gabriel reaches over to stroke Dean's hand. His expression is serious, his eyes honest. "Do you think there is anything I wouldn't do for you, Dean? Don't you want the world to know that I am yours to do with as you please?"

Dean knows the answer. The finer nuances of that kind power might not be understood by all, but they would be understand by those looking for shifts and exchanges of power. "Fine. I'll come with you." Dean thinks about it for a minute, drinking half a glass of wine without noticing. Gabriel is right. If he is going to that ball, anything that isn't entirely flamboyant, flashing exactly what it is they do together will make them both appear weak. Weak and ashamed and attempting to hide what Dean is and what he is to His Royal Highness Prince Gabriel of America. No, Gabriel is right. They have to flash it, play it out, show how Dean is able to wrap Gabriel around his little finger. It'll make Lord Alastair think twice too. Like that, it would be clear that Dean's worth vastly exceeds what Lord Alastair might be willing to pay—in more ways than one.

"If this is how life in high society commences," Benny tells Andrea, shaking his head, "I'm glad we're _low_ society."

"Right," Dean grins. "Must be a total low for you. You and Andrea and the seventy million bucks my sweet ass got you. "

"You had your ass handed to you on a silver platter," Benny says, pretend innocent. The blue eyes sparkle. "Which is why I have your money, and you have... that little dick there." He points at Lord Gabriel.

"Benny!" Andrea swats at her husband. "Thank the High Lord the children are eating in the kitchen. Dammit, don't you have any manners?"

"I apologize for my guests, m'lady, some of them, at least," Gabriel says, attempting not to laugh. "Horrible standards. Nobody cares about politeness and decency these days; it's so sad."

*

They decide to take coffee outside, as much as the glass-covered piece of land inside the palace walls can be seen as being outside.

"My brother has changed," Lucifer says, taking a few long strides to catch up with Dean as they walk towards the stairs. "I suppose I have you to thank for it."

That is surprising. Dean didn't think that Lord Lucifer cared much about anything or anyone but Lord Lucifer. And Sam. It is obvious how smitten the Lord of Ice is with Sam; how in love he is. Dean doesn't particularly like Lord Lucifer. He is too much like a mako shark: fast and fierce and intelligent, only pretending to be calm and quiet until the moment it attacks the fish it is swimming with. Dean does, however, like how Sam lights up when he sees his lover. Dean likes the happiness that the love affair with Lucifer gives Sam.

Also, Dean is determined that he is going to shoot Lord Lucifer in the face if he hurts Sam, consequences be damned.

"I didn't do anything, M'Lord," Dean says, because he hasn't really done anything but to live in the Sky Palace and have hot, dirty sex with Gabriel. "But he's different now, that's true."

"Seeing that none of his family managed to do over millennia what you've managed in half a year, I'd say you've done enough," Lucifer says. "But enough praise. I don't particularly like you, Winchester, but I love Sam, and thus your well-being is a concern of mine."

"Likewise. And you really don't do much in the line of politeness at court, do you?" Dean snaps. "Here I thought that Gabriel was the arrogant little twat, and I've been wrong all along."

Lucifer stares at Dean for a second before he lets out a loud guffaw. "I suppose that is why we get along so well, Sam and I. The more I get to know him, and you, the more it is clear that the Winchesters never will be famous for their politeness, either. Anyway, point taken." Lucifer seems to bow out, deliberately avoiding confrontation. "Sam was worried for a while. On your behalf."

Maybe it's for Sam's sake, that Lord Lucifer attempts a modicum of politeness. Dean doesn't care—there is little gain from being confrontational with an ally, so Dean attempts to be polite too. "There is no reason to worry. I'm... content. It was a rough start, but I'm fine. Gabriel and I... we're good. What I don't understand is why you are so interested in what I do, My Lord. I mean, you and Lord Castiel and Gabriel... why are you—" Dean pauses. "You, you don't even like humans. Everybody knows that."

"True. I was against this entire enterprise from the beginning, when my father suggested that we moved our court to Earth. Then again, the place _is_ the most beautiful spot in the universe, and—"

"Couldn't you have stayed? It wasn't strictly necessary for you to go? You have only contempt for humanity so why? It can't all be about location, location, location?"

Lucifer laughs, his honest smile changing his arrogant demeanor. "It's terribly boring, being sidelined. Our family has not always been this tightly knit. Both Gabriel and I were at odds with our father for a very long time. I was bored and Gabriel had a fit of teenage rebellion. We fought. We got better. At least I have something to do down here, actively despising humanity as a whole."

"And yet you help them when you are able? I mean, you're working like mad during the storm season and the rainy season and in between. You prevent Lord Alastair from buying Seconds and you, you personally, bought Meg when she lost the Cage and kept her at your palace for a full year, demanding nothing but her, training your guard. No—" Dean holds up a hand. "Don't deny it. Gabriel told me. So why?"

"I might not be a great lover of humans in general, although there are exceptions." Lucifer sends Sam a longing look. He shakes his head and sighs. Dean can't stop himself from smiling. Lucifer is almost cute in the way he seems to adore Sam. "As I said, I am not a great lover of humanity," Lucifer repeats. "But I am very much in favor of consent. I find the Cage fights entertaining, the tournament is a great tradition, it keeps the population happy and distracted and all that. Selling the Seconds, on the other hand? I find it unacceptable, as do the rest of my brothers and sisters who entertain the notion that free will is not something that can be bought and sold. We are all entitled to the freedom of choice. It's what connects us, humans and the _Enay cocasb iaod zil tule_." Lucifer uses the ancient name for the Forever-Lords. "It is what makes us one people."

Dean nods. If nothing else, they can agree on that, although the 'one people' leaves a lot to be desired when the Forever-Lords and a few of their chosen humans are the ones leading the Earth Council.

They walk along the balcony that surrounds the garden, down the stairs to the small oasis without speaking. As such Lord Lucifer has told Dean nothing new, but it is still somewhat nice to hear these admissions from the horse's mouth.

"Why Sam?" Dean finally says when they reach the bottom of the stairs. Lucifer's dislike for humans really is famous and Dean still has trouble understanding that Sam is excluded from that hatred. "Why?"

"The universe's attempt at irony, I suppose." Lord Lucifer huffs, as if he hasn't come to terms with his relationship himself. "My father—" Lord Lucifer looks a little tired at the thought of him. "My father sees everything, everything that has been written, and often he sees things that might come to be. He tells me that the universe made Sam for me. We are made for each other."

"So the Forever-Lords know everything? Just like that?"

"No. That's not how it works. My father sees... prophecies. He reads the weave of things as they are; he is the Lord of Possibilities. Free will turns possibilities into choices, and those choices become reality. Free will is what turns many possible realities into one that excludes the rest. Sam is mine and I am his, that is _reality_. My father has seen it, read the weave back into the beginning of time. We were made for each other. No matter which reality my father looked at, I would always end up here, with Sam, happy and in love. What will happen because of it? I don't know, and neither does my father because this is where free will and possibilities mingle. Not even my father knows what will come to be because of a union that has been meant to happen since _nothing_ became _something/i > and the universe came to be."_

Trying to wrap his mind around the brief insight into Forever-Lord metaphysics, Dean says, "But how does that make you stand humans? Where does Sam fit in?"

"I don't know. Maybe he was put here to teach me, just like you were put here to teach Gabriel."

Dean frowns. "I was not put here to teach Gabriel anything. He bought me, remember?"

"I beg to differ."

"So you argue that I'm a part of something like 'so it was written, so it shall be'-crap?"

"No, I'm saying that it might be the universe that have provided you with opportunity... like the one I had when Sam crossed my path. You might have met before, in another life, under another disguise, like Sam and I might have. Perhaps it is only now that you are ready for that commitment? I know I certainly wasn't ready for Sam."

It's not the same, very far from. Lord Lucifer can't possibly believe that the universe had this in store for him or for Gabriel. Of course Gabriel and he weren't meant for each other, that is pure idiocy, although Dean admits that he is sure that there won't be another man for him any time soon. Not until the universe has imploded and anything is made new and Dean no longer has any memory of golden eyes and mischievous smiles. Dean starts walking towards the center of the court. He is not sure what to say.

"There is a difference," Dean insists. "You love Sam. Maybe he's here to make you admit that you secretly love humans."

"And you love humanity." Lucifer's eyes glint fiery-cold. He smirks. "Maybe they'll teach you to admit that you're secretly in love with my brother."

"Oh, come off it," Dean snaps. "This is stupid. Of course I'm not in love with him."

"If you say so," Lucifer deflects the attack and pats Dean on the shoulder. "If you say so."

Before Lucifer is able to continue the conversation they are interrupted by Andrea and the children. Benny's offspring is unusually quiet and well-behaved but they are like bouncy little lambs at the sight of green grass and birds and shallow fountains to play in. They laugh and run down the stairs with a bunch of Gabriel's hounds chasing after them for fun; the dogs are as silly as the kids, playful and loud. Dean takes the opportunity and walks towards Sam. He has spent too little time alone with him; it is not just to avoid Lord Lucifer's too insightful observations.

The palace garden is brightly lit with hundreds of candles and torches. A table and a few couches are placed near the biggest of the fountains. Sam is already stretched out on one, as if the dining and reclining is natural behavior for him. Perhaps it is; Sam is spending most of his time in Lucifer's Snow Palace. Dean flops down on the couch opposite Sam.

Gabriel's roses are blooming and the night leaves them enough warmth to let their delicate scent permeate the air. Servants put up firebowls, in case any of the children should feel cold. 

Sam and Dean are both quiet while the servants hover over them, placing a selection of drinks and delicacies in front of them. Sam doesn't look very impressed; he too is used to unlimited access to good food by now, not that either of them ever is going to take it for granted that there is food a plenty. Or forks enough so that everybody can have one.

Sam takes coffee and a piece of pineapple. Dean considers the coffee, but leaves it in favor of a glass of ice cold mango lassi. He's not willing to admit that he likes it, but it sort of grew on him.

"Really, Dean?" Sam's surprise is clear enough. "You do know what it is, right?"

"I'm fine. Shut up."

Sam smiles, one of those wide, perfect smiles, no tension, just relaxed happiness. Those smiles were once too rare, too far between, when they were both fighting to survive on hunts, hustling, and fake credit cards. "Could be worse," Sam says and Dean knows exactly what he means.

Dean is happy. There really is no other expression that covers his mood that instant, surrounded by family and friends. He takes a sip of his mango lassi, grinning at Sam. Sam rolls his eyes, all bitch-faced, just because. Of course he cannot fool Dean. It takes two seconds before Sam grins back and swats Dean over the head. Dean sticks his tongue out, threatening Sam with a strawberry. Sam turns over and grabs Dean's arm, reaching for the piece of fruit.

They are just about to start a mock fight out of sheer joy with life when Dean's robe slides half open at the pull on his arm.

Sam stops, his eyes wide. "What—"

"What, what?"

Sam's eyes are firmly set on Dean's chest. Sam points, indicating the chain and charms and diamonds that are attached to Dean's nipples, following the decorated chain further down where the end of it is hidden under the folded layers of the thin robe. "You're... he's..."

"He didn't force me," Dean says, preventing any wrong ideas. "On the contrary."

"Is it—" Sam starts. "No, don't tell me." He squirms, unaware that he has put his hand over his own crotch protectively.

"Yes. And it is still voluntary. And very... pleasant."

"I really, really don't want to know."

"Then stop asking."

"In your— That one. Is it—" Sam blushes. Dean finds it adorable. His little brother is such a dork.

"Stop asking. But yes. It is attached to my dick."

"High Lord, stop _answering_!" Sam closes his eyes and flinches.

"You and Lucifer were busy giving me and Gabriel relationship advice, I'll be happy to provide a similar service," Dean says, a wide grin on his face. Oh, this is fun. "It makes for interesting sex to play with—"

"No!" Sam cries. "I beg you!"

"Look, it feels good, I like that Gabriel likes how I look, and assure you that it makes for fantastic sex, so stop worrying."

"Please?" Sam turn all puppy-eyed and Dean takes mercy on him.

They are quiet for some time. Dean leans back in the pillows, simply enjoying life and a little bit that he made Sam uncomfortable. Personally there isn't anything that Dean would like to know about Sam and Lucifer's sex-life, so he empathizes, not that it'll prevent him from teasing Sam again at another time if he feels like it. Maybe he will explain to Sam in a more serious manner that he is not ashamed of how he looks, that he truly likes being adorned with the physical signs of Gabriel's affection. He might hold back a bit on how much he likes to show them off, though.

"You and Lucifer," Dean says instead. "He told me that you are made for him."

"And he for me," Sam says. "I am still not sure what will come of it; he is not always open about his plans."

"But you believe him?" Dean is still battling the concept.

"I believe it, yes. And I believe I have a choice; it is not up to Lucifer alone."

"Could be worse," Dean admits. "He really makes you happy." He needs only look at Sam when Lucifer is brought up. "No, don't answer that, dude, you are totally besotted."

"Pot, kettle." Sam gets an annoyingly smug expression and he sits back, one eyebrow raised at Dean. "Are you going to stay? Here?"

They understand each other so well. Sometimes. "No. I can't." Dean looks at Benny and Andrea. They look happy, too, playing with their kids. The smallest is rolling around in the soft grass, three of Gabriel's terriers yipping and jumping around him, while the middle child is trying to climb Benny's huge shoulders. The oldest boy is helping Andrea build a small boat; maybe they're going to launch it in the biggest fountain. There were times when Dean wanted that, all of it, wife, kids. The life Benny has, not Benny's life, but something like it. No more. Now Dean doesn't know what to do, where to go. All he knows is that he cannot stay. "It's going to kill me, I know," Dean admits. "I'm not his thing. I have to go."

Sam is quiet for a while. "You have changed," he says, "and so has Gabriel. Lucifer says so."

"I know," Dean agrees. "He's not what I thought he'd be. Or he is, it's just... different now. He's... He's..."

"You're in love with Gabriel, aren't you?" Sam asks, without looking at Dean. "You're totally in love."

Maybe it's time to be honest. With Sam, with himself. 

"Yeah," Dean almost whispers, putting words to what he feels for Gabriel for the first time, his heart aching as if it is breaking. He rubs a hand over his mouth, as if it'd been better to keep in the confession. "I am. Deeply, irrevocably in love with him."

The realization is bittersweet.

*

April turns out to be one hell of a bitch. Luckily Gabriel and Dean are far too busy for Dean to think much about his feelings for his lover. Feelings are a minefield anyway; nothing good can come from poking around in them. Dean is even more determined not to stay his welcome. Once in a while he catches his picture in a mirror, the torc around his neck representing everything that is wrong with his life.

Perhaps it had been better to be a slave in any other household, Alastair's exempt. It would have had been harder and more boring, that's for sure, but leaving would have been easy. Now there is another piece of junk around Dean's neck, together with the torc, one that isn't as easily removed. It comes with ties and chains, bound to his heart. He pushes the thought away. He can worry about that when the torc opens and he has his freedom back. Then Dean can fade away, out of Lord Gabriel's life, back into his own. One that does not have perky little Forever-Lords in it.

It's going to be easier said than done, though, what with Sam living in sin with Lord Lucifer, and himself chosen by Gabriel for some position of trust or other, one he might actually want to keep after the year is over because it might put food on the table.

Good thing, Dean finds, is that there are months left before he has to decide. 

Looming in the near future, however, is the ball. Dean doesn't want to go. He's got a choice; Gabriel has never denied him anything, and if Dean would rather stay home to rub the hounds on their bellies or make an inventory of the plates in the kitchen, Dean is sure that he can do that. He knows that Gabriel can't say no to him. The problem is that Dean is unable to deny Gabriel anything as well. Dean is remarkably invested, not only in Gabriel's wishes, but in his happiness, his political future, his health, his status and just about everything Gabriel, from the way he smiles when he wakes up in the morning to the adorable way he snores when he falls asleep at night, wrapped up in Dean's embrace or spooning him from behind.

Dean is so, so, _so_ fucked.

Of course he's going to that ball with Gabriel. 

Apart from that, Dean really doesn't care too much about what's going to happen at said ball. It's not his to plan or plot or think about, and he's happy that way. They have decided already to make a show out of it, play the audience as they play their games. Dean is beginning to understand the underhanded power plays that go on at court, and if they can counter it with a game of sex and dominance, canceling out the political game by making their opponents uncomfortable, Dean can go with that. They are turning their weakness into a piece of armor, they are going to use it as their shield. All Dean needs to do, according to Gabriel, is to dress nicely, behave like a sultry, pampered boy and let Gabriel handle the rest. Dean decides to go with the flow. If Gabriel finds it appropriate to show him off, Dean really is fine with it. 

Dean is not entirely willing to admit that the set-up is tapping into his slight exhibitionism. It's not as if he gets off on being paraded half-naked in front of cameras and dignitaries, but he does like it a lot that he is desired. And Dean will show the world the power he holds over Gabriel: they will feel it in their own hearts, in the way their cocks stir or their cunts get wet at the sight of him. Besides, half the population on Earth has seen Dean in the Cage, the only thing preventing him from being stark naked the pair of cut-off jeans he liked to fight in.

He has nothing to be ashamed of.

His only duty is to Gabriel. His duty is to him and to the game they play, the power they try to take, the strength they need to gain. His duty is to make Gabriel stronger. His duty is to please Gabriel.

Which is why they are going to have scorching hot sex right after the ball, because Dean is sure that he'll be incredibly, overwhelmingly aroused when they are done.

Heaven, he gets off on Gabriel's power so hard.

*

As the days pass by, it becomes evident to Dean that the bed is not the only thing Gabriel wants to share with him. It hasn't been for the fun of it that Dean has been encouraged to read books on politics and strategy. It starts with the little things, like Gabriel asking Dean whether he could take over overseeing the guards and come up with a way to improve their training and security in general. Sure, Dean can do that, and he enjoys it, engaging in close combat training again, planning strategies with the captain of Gabriel's guard. Captain Garth, a lanky man of questionable strength, but with superior intelligence accepts his assistance happily, going on about love and peace between man, followed by accounts of many varied ways that Captain Garth would like to kill anyone belonging to Lord Alastair's faction, preferably Lord Alastair himself.

Dean likes the man. Not just because Garth knows the proper use of weapons that Dean didn't even knew existed, but because he's a genuinely nice guy who likes everybody. As long as 'everybody' is not Lord Alastair. Dean likes that sentiment too.

Out of shape, Garth works Dean over until he is sore and tired. Luckily he isn't that out of shape, and after two weeks, his body starts doing what he tells it to do, much to his soldiers' regret. 

Dean has bruises that Gabriel huffs at and heals, so that he can make other bruises to decorate Dean's skin before he is off again, fighting another cloudburst down south. Dean thinks it amuses Gabriel to see Dean's body change, get harder, more athletic. He's not back to cage-fighter strength, but he's getting there.

Garth is good company; he has extensive knowledge about strategy and training, and only his gentle disposition (except when it comes to Lord Alastair) keeps him from being the perfect leader of the palace guard. It doesn't seem to bother Garth, though. He tells Dean that he is happy to have a proper fighter take over.

It takes two weeks before Dean realizes that he has been moved into a position as de facto commander of the palace guard, his talents as a strategist, fighter and hunter put to use. He doesn't flinch when his soldiers start calling him Commander Winchester. 

After that it is the archive in the basement; something that turns out to be a collection of hand-written accounts, intelligence, kept that way as not to end in the wrong hands. Then Gabriel asks for Dean's opinion on how to deal with corrupt officials in his administration. Later it is Gabriel asking for Dean's assessment on how the general public will react to this or that, always interested in Dean's opinion on the effect on the humans under his rule. 

It takes Dean yet another week to figure out that he is now His Royal Highness Prince Gabriel of America's personal adviser.


	9. A Swift Cloud to Fly With Thee

"Heavens, you are beautiful." Gabriel gets up from the throne-like chair, his expression filled with awe. Dean likes the way Gabriel looks at him, slack-jawed and with a flicker of deep desire flashing in his eyes. "Oh, Dean." Gabriel lets a hand brush down Dean's side, smoothing the flimsy, thin organza that barely makes up for a robe. The thin chains are clearly visible underneath the white fabric; the thin ropes made from platinum and gems so precious that they could probably buy half a palace like Gabriel's. Not that Dean knows; as usual he didn't ask. "If we didn't have to be at the capital in an half an hour, I would have you, right here, right now," Gabriel says while he lets a finger dance along the chain that goes from Dean's cock, separating around his navel into two separate chains that are attached to his nipples. Gabriel leans in and licks at Dean's lip, playing with the thin chain, forcing him to open his mouth. "Tongue," Gabriel demands, and Dean obliges, sliding his tongue against Gabriel's in a deep kiss. 

Dean moans. Gabriel pulls the chains again, and every sensation is enhanced, as if an electric current goes all the way to Dean's cock. He hardens and moans, greedy for more. 

Gabriel steps back, sighing. "Cuffs?"

Dean holds out his arms. His wrists are adorned with the heavy gold bracelets that Gabriel gave him. 

"Good. Open the robe. Our game starts now."

Dean nods his acceptance. His will belongs to Lord Gabriel until they are done playing the game of power, sex and court intrigues. 

Lord Gabriel looks positively evil. It doesn't bode well, but Dean does as he's told. Lord Gabriel snaps his fingers and produces yet another length of the jewel-encrusted white gold rope from out of nowhere. He attaches one end to the bracelet before pushes the other through the ring that decorates Dean's right nipple. Dean frowns. Leave it to Lord Gabriel to think up some cruel game for tonight. Lord Gabriel grabs Dean's cock, pushing the chain though the bigger ring there. Dean can't stop himself from thrusting into Lord Gabriel's hand. 

"Ah-ah," Lord Gabriel says. "Behave." He pulls the rope through the left nipple ring. "Your arms. On your chest."

"What? No!" Dean has figured it out. He'll be wrapped up in that chain, making it impossible to move without pulling either nipples or dick of all of it if he tries to stretch his arms. "Please, My Lord. Not... not tonight." He is vulnerable enough as it is.

"Dean!" Lord Gabriel's tone suggests that he will not tolerate disobedience. 

For a second Dean considers taking the easy way out and tell Lord Gabriel that he's overstepping his hard limit. Instead he takes a deep breath. He can do this. In the eyes of the High Lord and his guests, Dean is merely Lord Gabriel's property, his slave. Whether he is tied up and exposed or not... it doesn't change that view. At least their blatant showing off will make it clear that neither Dean, nor Gabriel are ashamed of what they are. Gabriel is not taking Dean to the ball so that he can putter around in the shadows, nothing more than a walking apology for them and their relationship. It defies the purpose and weakens Gabriel in the eyes of his enemies. Dean takes a breath, then another. He forces himself to relax and focus on the pleasure the evening will give him. It _will_ be pleasure. It is a power game, but it is a power game whose aspects get Dean all riled up. He is still tense since he is not used to have his kinks mixed up with politics and public exposure. The Forever-Lords are... weird.

Calming himself, searching for the silence and quiet that allow him to fight himself and give in to Lord Gabriel's wishes, Dean crosses his arms and lets Lord Gabriel attach the other end of the chain to his left bracelet. There is no way he can move now, not without causing himself arousal or pain. He clenches his hands around the fabric of the robe, his palms sweaty. He's nervous, not that he's ever going to admit it. He takes another deep breath and relaxes. He trusts his lover to take care of everything.

"Hold it," Lord Gabriel says and reaches around Dean, ripping apart the minimal piece of underwear that barely covers his dick. Lord Gabriel throws the silken underwear on the floor and pulls Dean's transparent robe closed as well as possible, what with Dean's hands buried in the folds of it. It covers everything and nothing. "Better. Let go. Dean."

With his eyes closed in defeat, Dean lets go of robe. It falls over his skin like a soft caress, teases his pierced dick and his sensitized nipples. Anger and arousal fight for Dean's attention. He is entirely Lord Gabriel's now. He can't move, he can't hide, he can't do anything but to be exposed like the lewd, wanting sex toy he is— when Lord Gabriel wants him to be. It is degrading and deeply arousing at the same time.

Dean doesn't know what to do about it. It is tempting to bow out. It is almost as tempting to go with the flow and see where it brings them. Dean has no reputation to uphold; everybody knows—or thinks they know—that Dean is Lord Gabriel's sex toy anyway. 

Before Dean finishes that line of thought, Lord Gabriel pulls him close, arms wound tight around him. Dean is pulled through the darkness of space, merely a breath of time, before they step out in the High Lord's arrival chamber. Four of the High Lord's guardsmen bow to Lord Gabriel. Their leader steps closer, deliberately not looking at Dean. He has an arrogant smirk plastered across his face. "Your chambers are ready, My Lord. Do you wish me to take your slave the holding cells?"

Lord Gabriel doesn't reply. He turns his head, looking at Dean. "Holding cells? Really?" Casually he turns back to look at the guard, and in one quick strike he backhands the man across the face. The guard is slammed against the wall by the impact and he falls on his knees, slumping down on the black and white tiles, blood gushing from his broken nose. 

"The next person who disrespects me will not be as lucky," Lord Gabriel says softly, looking from one guard to the next. "Nor will anyone go unharmed who disrespects Dean Winchester. Dean is mine, my beloved, and any insult to him is an insult to me. Keep that in mind if you wish to keep in good health. I might let Dean at you, and I doubt any of you have the power to stand against a trained Cage fighter." He looks at Dean again. "Heaven! These people. Impossible to get decent help these days. I might suggest to my father that he should let you train these idiots to see if any of them is actually worth their pay. Come."

Cleverly Dean suppresses any urge to say anything. Not that he's lacking things he'd like to say, but he'd love to sleep in a bed tonight. Now Lord Gabriel is in a mood, thanks to the rude guard. Dean would have liked to have words with the man too, but it is strangely satisfying that Lord Gabriel defended his honor. It makes Dean feel better, as if he still has some kind of worth outside Lord Gabriel's castle. Apart, of course, for the seventy million dollars that Lord Gabriel paid for him. 

Lord Gabriel leads them from the arrival chamber down a wide corridor that makes the Sky Palace palace look like a run-down shack. The ceiling hovers high above them, resting on white marble pillars. The floors are white marble, cool under Dean's bare feet. Wall paintings and tapestries depicting the Forever-Lords and their fight to save Earth decorate the walls. Outside the open windows a slow drizzle of artificial rain makes the late spring heat bearable. Wines and flowers creep across windows and inside the long corridor, leaving a pleasant smell of roses and a memory of how Earth once was, before the storms and the floods and the sand. 

Guards line the walls, all of them bowing as they pass. One steps across the corridor to open a set of wide doors as they approach. Gabriel nods politely as they step into their assigned chambers. 

"These were mine, before I moved to the Sky Palace," Lord Gabriel says as the doors close behind them. "Almost like home." He turns around, caressing Dean's cheek gently, the softness of it contradicting the angry fire in Lord Gabriel's eyes. "Stand. Position."

Dean does what he's told, moaning as he tries to get his hands behind his back. The chains pull enticingly at the piercings. Dean knows that his submission will improve Lord Gabriel's mood and right now it might be what they both need. "Yes, My Lord." Dean smiles a soft smile. "How may I serve you?." Dean wants to reconnect with his lover. He wants Lord Gabriel's attention on him, all of it, not on some rude soldier. They have to keep alert and aware, definitely, even in the middle of the part of the game. But right here it is only about the two of them. "Please, my lord. Let me give you relief."

"Be quick about it," Lord Gabriel growls, his voice rough, and slumps down in a deep, white chair. "You have ten minutes." He pulls up his tunic and pushes down his underwear, leaving no doubt about the kind of relief he wants. He watches as Dean gets on his knees in front of him. Lord Gabriel's cock is half hard, and Dean strokes it a few times, coaxing it into a full erection. 

Dean looks up at Lord Gabriel with heavy-lidded eyes as he licks his lips. He likes how it makes Lord Gabriel moan. He likes how he is able to make his master forget everything but the promise of wet lips over his cock. Dean moisturizes his lips again, leaving them spit-slick and inviting. "My mouth is yours, My Lord," Dean whispers sultrily. "Use it for your pleasure."

"Uh, fu-uck," Lord Gabriel gasps, yanking Dean closer by a hand in his hair. Dean whines, and before he can close his mouth, Lord Gabriel's cock is between his lips, rammed inside hard, the taste of pre-come blooming on his tongue. Lord Gabriel thrusts in hard and fast, there is no finesse, no holding back. Dean sucks and tries to relax as well as possible, trying not to gag as Lord Gabriel's cock goes in too deep and too fast. Dean is aroused too, the chains pulling at his nipples and at his cock. He licks the head of Lord Gabriel's dick, presses his tongue into the slit, and Gabriel lets out a muted cry, coming in Dean's mouth. Dean manages to swallow most of it, only a few drops dribble down his jaw and onto his chest. 

Lord Gabriel lets out a deep, relieved moan. "Good boy." He straightens up in the chair. "Position," he demands before he leans forward and licks Dean's lips, his pink tongue lapping little cat-licks across his mouth. Dean shifts under him, kneeling, legs spread wide for his master. "I can't wait to show you off like this, all hard for me."

Dean makes a very undignified sound. It's so embarrassing, being used like a whore, and deeply arousing at the same time. It's arousing to be showed off, a beautiful exhibit for the Forever-Lords to feast on. Dean reminds himself that he belongs to Lord Gabriel. Letting himself cling to that thought, he knows he is able to do what Lord Gabriel asks of him. As long as he is Lord Gabriel's to command, there is no shame, not even in showing up at the High Lord's ball, half naked and with an erection the size of a log. "Yes, My Lord." Dean bends his head, obedient.

Lord Gabriel gets up, walking into an adjourning room. It takes a minute before he is back. Dean doesn't look up. It's not his place. A hot, damp washcloth slides across his face, wiping off any traces of semen. 

"Look at me," Lord Gabriel demands. He has a heavy silver chain in one hand, a real chain, not the flimsy braided jewel-decorated ropes and chains that criss-crosses Dean's body. Lord Gabriel reaches for the torc. There's a snap hook in one end of the chain. 

Dean tenses. Lord Gabriel wouldn't? _Gabriel_ wouldn't. "No. I'm not your dog."

Lord Gabriel eyes him as if to assess whether he means it or not.

Dean has no problem letting Lord Gabriel know exactly what he thinks. "You wanted to send me to the kennels. Before _this_." Dean indicates with a restrained wave the state of his naked, tied-up person. "I said no. I am still saying no. I. Am. Not. Your. Dog." It is as close as Dean has ever come to using the way out that Gabriel gave him. His safeword.

Gabriel's face is blank. "As you wish." He is about to turn away when he turns back, a soft smile on his lips. Without looking at it, he throws the chain on the low table between the white divans. "You really do trust me."

"You say it as if I shouldn't? As if you were in doubt." Dean tilts his head, frowning. "You think I'd let you overstep my limit just because you have the legal right to do with me as you please?"

"I don't know," Gabriel admits. "I... wasn't sure. I didn't know what would happen. I mean, if I asked you something you would object to. I made that mistake once, and I was afraid that—"

"You weren't sure what you would do? You thought I wouldn't use my safeword? Or—"

"No. I never wanted to abuse you, Dean. You know I would never do that. I know we— that _I_ didn't know what I was doing when I bought you." Gabriel pauses before he reaches out, caressing Dean's cheek gently. "There was a time I wanted you the easy way. The way that cost me nothing but money. I... I can never go there again."

Dean can't stop himself from turning his cheek into Gabriel's caress. So much has happened since that first day, and Dean isn't bothered by it any longer. Gabriel had been a clueless idiot then. "And now?"

"Now I realize that what I got was the hard way. The one that is going to cost me everything. So you see why I cannot hurt you? Your hurt is my failure. If you fall, I am falling with you, and—" Gabriel shuts his mouth as if he has said too much. "Dean..." Gabriel gets up on tip-toe and presses a gentle kiss to Dean's lips. "Don't blame me for trying to get the most of what I have, and of what you willingly give me."

Not sure he understands what Gabriel is saying, Dean tries to wrap his mind around it. If he understands Lord Gabriel right, Dean is not alone in having... feelings. There are emotions growing between them, emotions that no longer allow Gabriel to stay uninvolved.

"I'll give you everything," Dean says. "Except for the pleasure of parading me in front of the court like one of your hounds."

Gabriel understands. "I am not going to do anything to you that doesn't bring you pleasure." He puts a hand on Dean's chest, over his heart. "Tonight I won't do anything that you do not want. I swore to you once that I would respect your wishes, and I will swear to it again. My pleasure is secondary to yours, but it pleases me to see you like this, entangled in the power you have handed me."

"Sweet. Could we get on with it?" Dean growls, not entirely serious, but a bit more rudely than he intended. He's had enough with the girl talk. He just wants to enjoy embarrassing the hell out of the High Lord's stuck-up court since it is so important to Gabriel that they do. 

"Someone really needs to teach you manners," Gabriel whispers, kissing Dean's neck. "Someone should dedicate their life to teaching you. And I'd prefer it was me. I'd like to use the rest of my life to teach you, Dean."

The admission makes Dean smile a bittersweet smile. Yeah, he'd like that too. He closes his eyes. He tries to suppress it, but he is so in love that it is more or less impossible. Dean makes a discontent sigh. Yeah, he's in love.

And so, it seems, is Gabriel. Is there any other way to understand his confession? Dean doesn't think so. Dean reaches for his lover, desperate for him, desperate both to stop what they have together, and to continue it. He thought he was alone, the only one feeling lost in feelings he has no control over. It seems that Cupid has a shotgun, and that he's been aiming at both of them. And fuck, did Cupid hit bull's eye—both Dean _and_ Gabriel.

It changes everything. It changes everything, but Dean doesn't know what to do with it, or how those changes are going to impact his decisions.

Dean sighs as Gabriel place wet little kisses on his skin ever so tenderly, but Gabriel's touches contradict the tenderness. A little yank of the chain attached to Dean's nipples brings him back to the game they are playing. It's fine. Dean doesn't want to talk about emotions, and he doesn't want to think about them, either. 

Dean sighs and makes a weak, apologetic sound to appease his master. Dean searches for the relaxed, safe space inside himself where he becomes Lord Gabriel's to have, Lord Gabriel's to take. He has a task tonight, and he can only perform it if he lets Lord Gabriel take over. Dean forgets the tension, forgets his own needs and wants. Lord Gabriel will take care of those, catering to all of Dean's wishes. What does it matter what people think? They belong to each other, Lord Gabriel and he, in this constant give and take of power and submission. Nobody else matters.

In a slow, fluent motion, Dean kneels, his head bowed in full submission. He falls into the calm place that he prefers when he is Lord Gabriel's to use. "I'm yours, My Lord. To teach, if it pleases you." Slowly Dean looks up, before he turns his head, this time looking pointedly at the discarded silver chain on the coffee table. He makes a decision, a heavy one, but also one that tells Lord Gabriel about Dean's trust and love. "Anything that pleases you, My Lord." Dean can hardly keep back a triumphant smirk when he sees what his submission does to his owner and master. His lover. Dean's cock is heavy with arousal. Lord Gabriel is damned hot when he is all worked up. Lord Gabriel's eyes harden, turning into cold gold, and Dean knows that their play is going to be brutal and difficult; that Lord Gabriel will push him to his limits. 

Dean moans softly and averts his eyes as Gabriel attaches the heavy silver chain to the torc, taking the everything that Dean' offers him.

*

"It's a show," Lord Gabriel says, pretending to speak to Samandriel as they walk. "Not a party for the family. It's a clash of factions. Michael's, Father's, mine. Alastair's and Crowley's. A power play." Lord Gabriel looks over his shoulder at Dean. They have spoken about this and Dean knows all of it. It is Gabriel's way of calming him, and Dean is grateful. It's not that he needs it, it is more that it tells him that Gabriel is aware that they, despite the game, are a team, equal.

Dean keeps the three-feet distance that the chain allows him. He doesn't say anything. He isn't allowed. 

Lord Gabriel puts his hand on Samandriel's shoulder. "Just be careful, boy. Look out for Alastair. We wouldn't want him near—"

 _Near me,_ Dean thinks. No, he wouldn't want Alastair near, either. The man is batshit crazy, and there is no way to predict what he might do. If he shows up at all. He hasn't made an appearance at court since the day he accosted Dean on the square, not that Lord Alastair is in danger since he hasn't actually broken any laws. Unless Gabriel's lust for revenge counts, but Gabriel isn't as stupid as to attack Lord Alastair at court.

"Yes, My Lord," Samandriel nods and falls behind, walking next to Dean. "I'll make sure no one acts inappropriately towards Dean."

Dean risks a small smile, thanking Samandriel the only way he's allowed to communicate for now. It should amuse him that Samandriel is so protective—he's but a kid. He is also a kid with preternatural powers, so Dean doesn't find it amusing at all since Samandriel, even as a toddler, is able to rip the arm off of a grown man by the mere thought of detaching the limb.

Fashionably late, Lord Gabriel stops in front of the high doors to the great hall. Majestic pillars rise towards the ceiling three floors up. Dean feels very small here. This visit, apart from the many implications, is different from his visits with Sam and Lord Lucifer. Lucifer does run a formal and very... royal household, but being presented at court, even as a house-slave? That is different. Dean trusts Lord Gabriel and Samandriel to guide him. It is not his problem how the formal part of the program progresses, though. He is Lord Gabriel's plaything tonight, all responsibility Lord Gabriel's. 

A herald with captain insignia steps up, ready to announce Lord Gabriel's arrival. Lord Gabriel nods, pulling Dean closer, close enough to let a warm hand slide over one of Dean's tied hands. 

The herald raises a banner with a sigil embroidered on it, walking into the hall in front of them. "Rise for His Royal Highness Prince Gabriel of America, Lord of Tempests, Count-Palatine of Arkansas, ruler of the Sky Palace! Give room for The Lord Samandriel, The Viscount California, squire to His Royal Highness Prince Gabriel." The herald steps back, allowing them entrance. 

Lord Gabriel doesn't move. A sudden gust of wind slams a door behind them. The herald looks afraid. There is another violent gust that makes clothes and banners whip around. Lord Gabriel's royal banner unfolds above them, the sigil a white cyclone on sandy yellow. The herald steps forward, once more thrusting the staff into the ground. 

"Give room for—" he turns to look at Lord Gabriel, nodding as Lord Gabriel whispers into his ear, smug-faced and triumphant. "Give room for The Honorable Dean Winchester, companion of His Royal Highness Prince Gabriel of America, adviser to the Prince, Commander of the Prince's guard."

Dean breathes in deep, curbing his surprise. He is a thing, not a person. For eight months, a couple of days and a few hours Dean has not been human in the eyes of the law. 

And then in one swift move, Lord Gabriel has given him that back, allowing him to be a person again, if not by law, then by the law that lies in the ruthless revenge that Gabriel will take on everyone who offends or abuses the companion of a prince of the court. With a sentence Dean has been raised above his standing, far above the status had before he was sold. Even in the strange hierarchy of the Forever-Lords Dean now has status. Bound and chained, Lord Gabriel's property, his freedom still four months away, Dean has been elevated to a level he could only have dreamed of. He is no longer _thing_. He is Honorable companion, Commander and Adviser to His Royal Highness Prince Gabriel of America.

Lord Gabriel reaches for him, and with one hand on the silver chain, one hand on Dean's arm, they walk through the throng of guests. Dean does not look down, but looks anybody in the eye who looks at him. Even the press's discreet cameras get a peek at Dean's open, confident stare.

The guests are silent, so silent that Dean's barefoot steps can be heard. Dean sees smiles and frowns alike, making sure he remembers who did what. He doesn't know what will happen four months from now, except that he might fall from grace when his time is over. He better prepare now, find allies where he is able.

Finally they stand before The High Lord Chuck and Queen Magda. Both are clearly used to Lord Gabriel's eccentricities because they both look... unsurprised. The High Lord gets up from his throne to embrace Lord Gabriel. He pats Samandriel on the head as Samandriel kneels. Dean continues to stand. He might have titles now, but legally he is not a person. He doesn't have to react until Lord Gabriel demands it. The High Lord raises an eyebrow before he nods. There is a small smile on his mouth. 

"As I expected," the High Lord says, addressing Lord Gabriel, "you found your way around the laws of our kingdom. Oh, Gabriel. What am I going to do with you?"

If it is true what Lord Lucifer said, and the High Lord is able to see into the future or predict it, then Dean's presence truly isn't surprising to him. 

"I had servants bring pillows for your companion to sit on," the High Lord says. What he doesn't mention is Dean's status as a non-person. No matter Dean's titles, none of them allow him a place at the High Lord's table. At any table, to be precise. It would be seen as offensive, even to those who disagree with the practice of selling Seconds from the Cage. The High Lord has to tread carefully, that Dean knows by now. Lord Gabriel has taken care of that, educating Dean in the way the law and the kingdom works, so it's not surprising that he is to sit at the table like a dog with it's master. Dean decides to holds on to his agreement with Lord Gabriel, not letting it get to him. They have their own schemes, and Dean sees it now, how he is going to be in a position where he can watch the other guests. From the lowest spot, he is able to be Gabriel's eyes and ears. There are more than one way to enjoy power, and Lord Gabriel most certainly have mixed them up into a confusing and delightful mix. 

Dean looks around. Lord Bobby and Lady Ellen are here, and so is Lord Lucifer. Sam is nowhere to be seen; he is probably too lowly to be invited to the high table. Sam has yet to gain status as more than Lord Lucifer's lover, and at a event reserved for the elite that isn't too impressive. That's the obvious benefit of being a thing: nobody questions Lord Gabriel's right to bring whatever commodities he wishes to the table. A bag, a dog, Dean.

Lord Gabriel bows to his father and turns to lead his small entourage to their seats. It is true what Lord Gabriel said earlier: the ball and the banquet are not a party. They are all participating in a show—a show of power and wealth. Dean has no idea what high tables are supposed to look like, but this one is definitely showing off the royal family and their riches. A servant leads them across the platform, past little islands of brocade-upholstered couches, strewn with silk pillows, tables between them burdened to the breaking point with food and wine. Dean breathes in the smell of steak and steamed vegetables, of flowers and freshly baked bread. The entire scene is a kaleidoscope of colors, a cornucopia of delicious smells. The servant stops at a particularly beautiful set of couches, richer and more inordinately decorated than the others. 

"The Lord Lucifer, The Lord of Hearts and The Lady Ellen will join you in a moment, Your Highness," the servant says. "May I serve you?"

"No. My companion will see to my needs. You may serve Viscount Samandriel." Lord Gabriel arrogantly waves the servant in Samandriel's direction before he pulls Dean with him to the nearest couch. Lord Gabriel slides down on the couch, pointing at the plush pillows at the floor. "My father likes you," he says as he supports Dean with a hand as he arranges himself on the pile of pillows.

"Thank you, My Lord." Dean falls into the safety of their game. The pillows are soft and luxurious and maybe the High Lord _does_ like him, because he is seated comfortably, and almost as high as Lord Gabriel, yet still on the floor. The air is warm from the fires that burn in fireplaces and firebowls throughout the great hall.

 _My servant will see to my needs_ clearly means something different to Lord Gabriel than it does to Dean. Lord Gabriel pours goblets of wine, offering a cup to Dean before he takes his own. Even with his limited movements, Dean can use his hands well enough to drink and eat by himself, although every movement tugs and pinches and pulls in places that remind Dean that even here, at court, he is his masters fuck toy, his plaything to use as he pleases, _when_ he pleases. It is not an entirely unpleasant thought.

Dean leans back against the front of the couch. Lord Gabriel offers him a small slice of steak and Dean takes it, just as he takes every bite Gabriel offers him after that. Yeah, he could get used to serve Lord Gabriel this way. Dean decides to simply enjoy the food—and maybe he does enjoy sucking at Lord Gabriel's fingers as suggestively as humanly possible. Or non-humanly possible, in this case.

Dean chews on a piece of lamb so tender that it falls apart in his mouth and he moans loudly enough to make Samandriel look at him weird. 

"Delicious, right?" Lord Gabriel asks, expecting no answer. "Like you." He nuzzles Dean's neck before he offers him another bite.

Dean takes it, licking at Lord Gabriel's fingers innocently, knowing that it goes straight to Lord Gabriel's cock.

"Wicked boy," Lord Gabriel whispers and bites Dean's ear. Oh, the game is on. At one of the other tables, Lady Naomi and Lord Michael send them a disapproving glare. Lord Gabriel sees it too. "They should just be happy that I'm not fucking you over the couch in front of them. Not that I'd mind. But _they_ surely would. They are so stuck up that I doubt Michael ever gets any." Lord Gabriel forces Dean's face up so he can kiss him. "Or you could suck me off, right here. There isn't anyone here who would begrudge me the use of those lips, although they might be envious that I am allowed to use our mouth as I see fit."

Dean sighs and directs his full attention to Lord Gabriel. His master has done everything to show that he is not ashamed of their relationship, on the contrary; Lord Gabriel has showed the entire court how much he appreciate everything about Dean by turning his unofficial titles official: they crave intelligence, strength, cunning. It lets the court know that Dean is not stupid, and that Gabriel is not besotted with a fool. Now it is time to show that Dean's body is appreciated as well as his mind. It is time for them to show the depth of their relation, making it abundantly clear to anyone attempting to plot against them that Lord Gabriel has chosen Dean and that nothing can come between them. They have it all: power, strength, trust, love.

Dean takes a deep breath, ready to dive into the beautiful abyss of submission, for a while ignoring everything and everyone but his master. He rests as comfortably in Lord Gabriel's power as he does on the pillows. The entire court has seen him half naked already. There is no modesty left to care about, not that Dean cared much about it before he met Lord Gabriel. There is basically little left for Dean to worry about at all. "If it pleases you, My Lord," he says and uses a full minute to think about how he'd have fought until death if Gabriel had tried to force him through this ordeal in the beginning of their year together. 

"Oh there's a lot about you that pleases me, but I think my father would be displeased if I took it from you here." Lord Gabriel caresses Dean's shoulder and he relaxes into the touch. His robe slides down over his arms and reveals his naked shoulders and chest. Lord Gabriel uses some time to map them out, slow strokes of his fingers, every inch touched before he is done. Meanwhile Dean watch the other guests. Few are looking at him or at Gabriel; Gabriel's reputation ensures them this courtesy, Dean is sure; nobody wants to be on the bad side of the Lord of Tempests. To Dean's surprise he finds out that his outfit isn't particularly daring. Several of the ladies and quite a few of the lords are in various states of undress, either because the flimsy fabrics of their tunics and robes are so thin that it can hardly be seen as dressing, or because they are wearing very little. One of Lord Crowley's spouses is dressed in chains only, a silver web, braided and with gems concealing the more interesting areas. The woman is small and dark, very pretty. "The Lady Hael," Lord Gabriel whispers. "I am not sure I like the way you look at her, though. Maybe you are more interested in her than in me?" Lord Gabriel adds, his word a teasing purr in Dean's ear.

"Of course not, My Lord." Dean is surprised himself. He is not interested in Lady Hael, he was merely admiring her beauty. Last year he'd been interested in any good-looking woman. But now? Not in a million years. He risks a look at Lord Gabriel. "No one but you, My Lord. There will never be anyone for me but you." Dean's heart beats faster at the glint in Gabriel's eyes. It's the honest truth, tumbling over his lips unattended. It hits Dean almost as hard as the first time, the one time he confessed to Sam that he had fallen in love with his master. He has to look away again; he needs time to digest this new, strange feeling that Lord Gabriel might know now the depth of the feelings he has for him.

"Kiss me," Gabriel demands and Dean complies willingly, forgetting everything about Lady Hael as Lord Gabriel's tongue slides into his mouth and experienced hands brush over his body. Dean makes a content sigh and wishes that they'd been alone. 

"Later," Lord Gabriel whispers, leaning his forehead against Dean's. "Tonight I'll make love to you. When I have punished you for all the troubles you caused me today."

Dean is aroused and hard as a rock when Lord Bobby and Lady Ellen join them at the table. It should be embarrassing, but Dean finds that the only thing he cares about is the warm loving touch of Lord Gabriel's hand on his shoulder.

*

"And you are sure he's treatin' you right, boy?" Lord Robert stares at Dean intently. Dean is sure it'd be a mistake to think that Lord Robert is a nice man although he showed Dean such kindness at the day of his defeat. There is something about him that makes Dean believe that anyone who even thinks about crossing Lord Bobby Singer will meet a terrible end. But there is warmth there, too, and honest concern. Lord Bobby was the only one who kept him from falling into despair when he lost in the Cage and for that Lord Bobby deserves Dean's respect.

Lady Ellen leans in, conspiratorially, as if Lord Gabriel can't hear her. "You tell us, Dean. We've know Gabriel for decades, and he is a bully and a fool, but he is not beyond reason." Lady Ellen smiles sweetly at Lord Gabriel "I'll be happy to speak with him in earnest if there are any problems. I see he had trouble choosing a proper attire for you, and I could help with that."

Dean is suddenly caught between reality and the safe little pocket he've been hiding in, surrounded by Lord Gabriel's power. "My Lord?" He seeks Lord Gabriel's approval, not because he needs it, but as a way to transcend the two worlds. 

"It's fine, Dean." Lord Gabriel strokes Dean's shoulder. "They're just looking out for you. Now, Bobby is an old badger, and I'm sure Sam has already told him everything he wants to know, feel free to add to it. Bobby has an incredible talent for gathering information from the most unlikely sources, but we don't want to make it more difficult for him than necessary."

Dean nods. He looks up at Lord Bobby. "It's my choice, My Lord," Dean says politely, sticking to formality. "I would not have allowed Lord Gabriel to drag me to court like this if I didn't want it. You were right, Lord Robert, when you told me in the Cage that Lord Gabriel was a good man, and I thank you for your kindness. I won't ever forget it. I am aware that I have no rights, not to my body, nor to anything else, but my master has never disrespected me or forced me to do anything against my will, nor do I believe that he will." Except that one time when Dean was chained to the floor, sleeping in his own filth, but that is so far behind them now that it doesn't count. Gabriel has long been forgiven for that. "I have Sam and Lord Lucifer looking out for me as well. Lord Gabriel doesn't get a chance," Dean adds, sending Lady Ellen a flirty grin.

"Don't try that with me, boy!" Lady Ellen swats at him and laughs. "And all that polite crap would be more believable if you actually had eyes for anyone but that little bastard there." She nodded in Gabriel's direction. "He doesn't deserve you."

"I couldn't agree more." Dean can't stop himself from chuckling. He doesn't think that anyone at the entire court dares address Lord Gabriel the way Lady Ellen and Lord Bobby do. 

Lord Gabriel puts a possessive arm around Dean. "Don't forget yourself, baby. I might take my revenge later." Lord Gabriel doesn't look vengeful at all and Dean finds himself looking forward to what his lover will come up with. 

"Not forgetting anything," Dean purrs seductively, letting Lord Gabriel know that he is up for anything. "But now that we speak of forgetting, where is The Lord Lucifer? Sam was so set on me coming here because Lord Lucifer had said he might take him."

"Lucifer," Lord Bobby doesn't sound too elated at the thought of the man. "He should be here by now. The High Lord Chuck expects him."

Dean can't decide whether he should be worried or not. Despite their frequent fights, Lord Gabriel loves Lucifer. If there was something to worry about, Lord Gabriel would have discussed it with him, Dean is sure. 

Dean nods and takes a sip of his wine. He decides that he might actually have come to appreciate Lord Lucifer. He is all about family, like Dean, and worried about his younger brother too. A bit too possessive is Lucifer, not that Dean truly minds, he likes that trait in Lord Gabriel as well. And if Dean isn't sorely mistaken, Lord Lucifer adores and worships Sam and the ground he walks upon. There is nothing the Lord of Ice wouldn't do for Sam. 

That counts for a lot in Dean's book. And as long as Sam is happy Dean is too. Without Benny, Lord Lucifer and Lord Gabriel , Sam would have had a tough year. 

A herald interrupts them. He is clad in a more elaborate uniform than most of the other guards. More important, probably. Lord Gabriel straightens up and Lord Bobby and Lady Ellen stop talking. Samandriel stops eating as well and sits up on his couch. 

"Highness, My Lords, My Lady. The High Lord demands your attendance at his table." 

Dean notices that no Honorable companion is mentioned, and he is certain that he has reached the High Lord's limit when it comes to tolerating slaves and servants at his feast.

"Apologies, Sir," the herald says and makes a polite bow to Dean. "There are ... traditions to adhere to. The High Lord asks that you, due to your close connection to His Royal Highness Prince Gabriel, attend as well. However a bit more discreetly." The herald looks around and his voice drops to a low whisper. "Opposing factions. The High Lord must be careful with the traditionalists. The High Lord holds no prejudice against you, he bids me tell you, and he apologizes beforehand for any displeasure tradition might cause you."

Gabriel's hand strokes Dean's gently. "Follow Captain Inias. I'm not sure what my father wants with us but you are safe with my father's most trusted servant."

"And... " Dean sits there, lost for a few moments. "What do I do, My Lord?" Dean inquires quietly. 

"You get up, stand straight and remember that you are mine. Every unkind word, every slight is an insult to me, and I will not take it lightly. You are mine, Dean, but you are my companion, my equal, because I willed it so, laws be damned." Lord Gabriel takes Dean's hands, squeezing them reassuringly before he unhooks the snaphooks from the bracelets. "They all know that. I release you from my command," Lord Gabriel says and attaches the chains to the torc. "For now. Be careful."

Lord Gabriel and his guests walk towards High Lord Chuck's table and Captain Inias motions at Dean to follow him. 

"Captain, any idea at all what's—"

"No, sir." Captain Inias interrupts Dean immediately. "All I can say is that it has something to do with Lord Lucifer. Don't worry," he adds, kind enough to reassure Dean that he needn't worry about his own person or Gabriel's. "The High Lord and Queen Magda are in a very good mood, so we expect no unfortunate events to happen. At least not in connection with Lord Lucifer."

"Thanks," Dean says, grateful that someone actually treats him like a normal person. He can take almost everything, but this court shit is so above his current lack of pay grade that he feels very alone now that Gabriel is no longer at his side. A gun and a bar brawl, that he can manage. 

The Captain shows him to a dark corner behind the High Lord's arrangement of elaborate and ornate couches and Dean feels remotely better. He can watch without being watched and he likes that. Gabriel and the rest of the royal family are gathering around High Lord Chuck. Gabriel scans the hall and smiles as his eyes meet Dean's. It is reassuring. 

Guards bring a throne chair from behind a curtain, and the High Lord takes his seat. Captain Inias walks down the few steps from the platform. He stops at the last step. He looks at the hundreds of guests, seated at low tables along the walls. "Hear me, oh, citizens of America!" Inias begins, demanding the full attention of the attendees. 

Every guest, every citizen in the country know this formal address of the people. The High Lord has an official message that concerns all Americans. A lower-ranking soldier hands Captain Inias a banner. The captain raises the banner three times.

"His Royal Highness Prince Lucifer, Lord of Ice, court-palatine of Alaska, North Dakota and Maine has asked for the High Lord Chuck's mercy in a case of national concern," Captain Inias says, looking directly into the cameras that, true to the press and the public's curiosity are there to broadcast everything the moment it happens. "Step forward, Lord Lucifer, and ask your favor."

The doors to the hall spring wide open as Lucifer steps in. Northern lights seem to follow him like frozen banners in cold blue and sea green. Even the simple tunic that he is wearing looks like northern lights, shimmering in the light from the candles. Lord Lucifer certainly knows how to make an entrance. The hall falls silent. Lord Lucifer bows to his father, not enough to be truly polite. 

"Yes, Lucifer?" High Lord Chuck leans forward. "What is it that you want?"

"Father," Lord Lucifer says. "I wish to marry."

The court echoes with surprised outbursts. Dean gasps, hidden behind a raised hand. He is sure that the court has heard about Lord Lucifer's connection with Sam, and Dean does not want anyone to revel in his shock. Dean's heart aches for Sam already, the humiliation to be cast aside so deep that Dean feels it almost physically. Lucifer has found himself a wife? No wonder Sam isn't to be found anywhere. Dean glares at Lucifer, trying to keep his anger down. There is nothing he can do right now; he will be punished as the slave he is if he approaches Lord Lucifer in any way; he has no say, no voice, no importance in this. All he can do is to keep quiet and find a way to alert Sam, to at least lessen the blow before Lucifer tells him, or the rumor reaches him, whatever happens first. Dean is sure Sam would have been crying at his shoulder if Lucifer had had the guts to tell him before the announcement, so there is no way that Sam know about Lucifer's betrayal. 

They should have known. The Forever-Lords love no one but themselves. Dean glances at Gabriel and decides that it is not entirely true. How sad it is Sam has been nothing but a toy for Lucifer. Dean had thought better of the man; thought that he had told the truth about his involvement with humanity, and with Sam. Dean sighs. How could he have been so wrong when he'd decided that Lord Lucifer was actually a decent Forever-Lord?

Dean looks around. Luckily nobody cares to look at him. The assembled nobles are busy chatting with each other. They are all in various states of shock, joy or indifference. The noise is unbearable.

"Silence!" Captain Inias steps forward, one hand on the silver handle of his sword. "The High Lord, our king, wishes to speak!"

The High Lord gets up from his throne. There is a smile on his face. "You do not need my approval, Lucifer."

"I do, Father. My intended is not one of our brethren."

This time the court practically explodes in shouts and cheers and a mix of happiness and outrage.

Dean gets up on tip-toe, trying to see. It can't be, can it? Lucifer has not chosen amongst his own?

The High Lord raises a hand to silence his guests and the great hall falls silent again. "It is unheard of," the High Lord says, "not because it is forbidden, but because during the hundred years we have protected this planet it has not happened before that a Forever-Lord wished to bind himself to a human, or a human to one of us. It is with great pleasure that I give my approval to this first union between one of the _Enay cocasb iaod zil tule_ and a human consort - we will truly become one people. May your marriage be blessed with happiness and joy."

Leave it to the High Lord to ignore that Gabriel not three hours ago dubbed Dean his companion, tying Dean to him if not by marriage, then by the bond of love. Then again, Dean isn't human. Not yet.

"Thank you, Father." Lucifer bows. "Allow me to introduce my fiancé." He waves Inias closer and whispers in his ear. Inias nods and walk from the platform to the gigantic doors at the end of the hall.

Clenching his fists so hard it hurts, Dean swears silently that if anyone who comes through those doors who isn't Sam he will make sure that Lucifer meets an untimely death if it's the last thing Dean does in his own pathetic life.

The northern lights flash and glitter as Inias once more raises the banner three times. The giant gates swing open again and in the shimmering light of ice and cold fire a tall shape appears.

Inias steps out on the floor, turning towards the throne. "Royal Highnesses, Princes, Princesses, Ladies, Gentlemen, honored guests! Make way for The Honorable Sam Winchester, Fiancé of His Royal Highness Prince Lucifer of America, brother of The Honorable Dean Winchester, Commander of the Sky Palace, companion to His Royal Highness Prince Gabriel of America!"

The entire hall almost explodes this time, in cheers and happiness and toasts and ovations as Sam walks up the aisle, towards the throne and Lord Lucifer. Lord Lucifer's usual calm and slightly arrogant expression are replaced with one of awe and adoration. No one, not even the most jaded and cynical spectator, can be in doubt that Lord Lucifer is deeply in love with his human husband-to-be.

Dean makes a sound, something between a relief and an undignified squeak. Thank Heaven that Lucifer didn't lie, didn't promise Sam anything he didn't intend to keep. Dean stares. Sam, clad in a tunic similar to Lucifer's, is looking like a prince. His little brother is gorgeous, grown up and serious and happy. But why the fuck didn't the kid tell him?

Better be a reason, or Sam will come to regret keeping secrets from him. The surprise doesn't diminish Dean's happiness, though, now that relief as replaced anger.

"So the little brother has whored himself out to Lucifer," someone whispers behind Dean at the same time as a clammy hand lands on his back, moving down to cup his ass. "Two whores in the royal family, how disgusting."

Dean doesn't think. He jerks and whips around, only to stand face to face with Alastair, Lord of Torment. Behind him stands Lady Abaddon, a gleeful smile on her face. 

"Touch me again, or speak ill of my brother, and I'll make you regret you ever said his name aloud," Dean hisses, not caring that he's halfway naked and Lord Alastair is not, not caring that Lord Alastair is supposed to be superior to him. Apart from the new titles and the from the seventy million dollars that Gabriel paid for him Dean isn't worth much in the eyes of the Forever-Lords. Dean hates that he is nothing but a commodity, but the knowledge helps him now. He is something that Alastair coveted and couldn't have. 

He is envy and defeat and desire personified, and he will use it if he needs to.

Dean thinks fast. He belongs to Gabriel, to the ruling faction, and Dean knows he cannot allow himself to appear weak. He will not shame Gabriel. He raises his head defiantly, staring at Alastair in the exact same arrogant way that Alastair looks at him.

"Just wait until I have you on the rack, slave," Lord Alastair whispers, far too sure of himself and sure that Dean cannot do anything right here, in the middle of an important ceremony. "Just wait until I have you bound so I can break you open. You will become mine. Your pain is mine, your screams. Your life." He words slither between them like poisonous little snakes, deadly and threatening.

Dean leans in, showing no fear, no disrespect, only cold disdain. "Jealousy becomes no one. I am not a helpless little slave you can treat like dirt, _Alastair._ My pain is my Lord Gabriel's to enjoy, because I chose to share it with him. I belong to Lord Gabriel because I wish to belong to him. You, on the other hand..." 

Lord Alastair's expression turns sour at the mention of Lord Gabriel, as if his name offends his senses. "You are nothing but a—"

Dean doesn't care. "Believe me, I will rip your filthy hands off you and feed them to you before I let you touch me. To you, pain is torture. To me, pain is something I offer Gabriel out of—" Dean hesitates for a second, stopping a word in the making, the one word he is not yet ready to use. "Out of respect and mutual pleasure." Disgust slides like cold water over Dean's body, and he cannot keep it from showing on his face how uncomfortable and vulnerable he suddenly feels. "Taking pleasure in the unwilling, taking pleasure in the pain and death of others is so sick I can't even begin to say how much I loathe it. And you."

Lord Alastair is about to say something when Lady Abaddon steps in. Maybe she has more common sense than Lord Alastair. "You are not going to congratulate your little slut of a brother?" Lady Abaddon laughs. "I suppose not. "

"What's going on here?" Gabriel has returned without Dean noticing it. His voice is as sharp as the snap from a whiplash. "Alastair?"

"Lord Alastair was just congratulating your companion on the good fortune of the Winchester family," Lady Abaddon purrs. "The Winchesters certainly are moving up in society, wouldn't you say?"

"I would say that the sooner you leave my companion alone, the larger the chance I won't challenge you to a duel," Gabriel says in the same purring voice. "Both of you. And do not make me remind you a second time, because I assure you I am usually not in a particularly good mood if I have to get up at sunset to kill people," he adds in a polite tone. "I have obviously never lost a duel in my life, except to my darling brother who was kind enough to stab me in the shoulder and not in the heart; he is such a dear. I do not entertain such gentle notions, so I advise against provoking me or my companion again. I am sure Lucifer will be displeased to hear of your lack of respect for our partners, and I am sure, too, that he will appreciate being asked to be my second. My brother doesn't take well to slights. I assume you heard what happened to the last idiot who thought he could offend my brother without repercussions?" 

Dean can't keep a smug grin from appearing on his face. Gabriel is gorgeous when he gets angry and bossy, and fuck if it isn't arousing hearing him threaten Lord Alastair with certain death at sunup. Dean reaches out, sliding his hand down Gabriel's back, unseen by Lord Alastair, to show his appreciation. Dean does fear Lord Alastair, it would be stupid not to. With Sam at Lucifer's side, Lord Alastair certainly has to think twice before he goes further in his harassment of them. Lucifer and Gabriel have been tied even more closely together by choice of partners, and it all benefits Dean, making him stronger too. Lord Alastair and Lady Abaddon are of the opposing faction, yes, but they are still not powerful enough to go up against the High Lord and his sons, not alone. With Lucifer's marriage, it won't take long before Lord Alastair's power will be fading, Dean is certain. Sam can be truly ruthless when he wants to be.

The threat finally sinks in. The Lord of Torment snorts and makes an almost invisible bow as if to indicate temporary defeat. "Lord Gabriel." He turns on his heel, pulling Lady Abaddon with him as they stride towards Lord Crowley and the rest of their minions.

Immediately Gabriel turns to Dean. There is a strange concern in the way he looks Dean over. "Dean?"

Dean is not sure what Gabriel wants. "He approached me. I might not have been polite. I..." Dean wonders whether he should apologize for making a scene, although he hasn't done anything wrong. 

"No!" Gabriel holds up his hand as if to stop any words before they come out. "I told you before, and I'll tell you again: if he ever tries something like it, I free you of any restraints, no matter form, so that you may do what is necessary to uphold your honor and mine." Gabriel's lips curl into a cruel smile. "Punch him in the face, kick his ass, turn him inside out and leave him to bleed out in the desert while ants feast on his rotting intestines, I don't care as long as it hurts like hell. Anything you deem necessary, baby. On my order, of course, should anyone care, which I doubt." Gabriel slides an arm around Dean's waist, tilting his face up to nibble at Dean's jaw.

Dean lets out a relieved sigh. Gabriel is safety and understanding. "Anything?"

"We can't let that beautiful muscle tone of yours and all that battle training go to waste. As I said, punch the guy in the face, kill him, whatever, my father won't complain, other than a bit for good measure, as long as Alastair started it." Gabriel shivers from anger, almost imperceptibly, but his body is too close to Dean as not to notice. Dean has watched Gabriel, kneeling or tied up or or under him, and he knows Gabriel's moods. Gabriel is not just angry, he is more than angry. Enraged. And, High Lord, he is hiding it well.

"My Lord," Dean murmurs, offering his neck to Lord Gabriel, calm strokes down his sides, across his back, back up to stroke his cheek. "Nothing happened. I promise I will make Lord Alastair regret that he approached what is yours to own and take and have. I will make him suffer for his insolence. I will remind him, probably with something heavy and cheap, if he approaches me again, that I am yours, and yours only."

"I'll kill him for you," Lord Gabriel mumbles. "I'll rip him apart slowly if you want me to. I'll kill for you, Dean." The words are whispered, but there is such intensity and passion in them that Lord Gabriel could have shouted them. Dean knows what they mean. Dean knows what he means to Lord Gabriel already. Companion. Precious toy. Treasure. Plaything. And then _this_.

"And I for you," Dean says softly. "I will kill anyone who threatens you, My Lord. Anything for you." Before he has finished the sentence, Dean realizes it's the truth. Lord Gabriel is his to hold and to protect, the same way that Lord Gabriel holds and protects him. Dean relaxes and sinks into the calm of being owned, and he is about to kneel in front of his lover and master in total submission, wanting badly to return to the quiet space that is theirs alone when Lord Gabriel stops him.

"Let's go speak to Sam and Lucifer," Lord Gabriel says, preventing with a hand on Dean's shoulder the submission he wants to give so badly. "When we are done celebrating the union between your brother and mine, I will have your full submission." Lord Gabriel hesitates, as if he senses Dean's urgent need. "Look at me," he demands.

Dean does as he's told. It's easier to manage his own anger and disgust when he concentrates on his master's orders. They are more important than anything, Sam's happiness exempt. Lord Gabriel must be kept satisfied and happy because only that way Dean will be satisfied and happy. Dean looks down for a few seconds before he raises his eyes to look at Lord Gabriel again. "Yes, My Lord?"

"You will come with me. Feel free to act on our own accord; you need not wait for my orders. Your brother needs you, and so do I. When I decide that you have spent enough time participating in the celebration of the upcoming nuptials I will send you to my chambers. You will prepare yourself for me, and Samandriel shall tie you up on the floor. You shall await there the punishment you deserve. I will not be lenient tonight."

Dean breathes out. They need the outlet to deal with the pressure. Dean's punishment for the imagined slight that Gabriel has found will provide them both with an opportunity to take back control over their feelings. Dean wants that, he wants to show Lord Gabriel how much he cares for him, without words telling him how much he loves him. As usual Lord Gabriel sees to Dean's needs, and now that Dean has Lord Gabriel's promise of punishment to hang on to, he is calm again, ready to accompany Lord Gabriel for as long as he wishes Dean to be present at his side. "Thank you, My Lord."

They approach the throne. Dean is walking three steps behind Gabriel, keeping to the rules of their game although he has been released for now. Lord Lucifer is sitting at the High Lord's right hand, with Sam next to him. Servants have brought them honeyed wine; the sweet scent of ripe grapes and spicy cactus honey makes Dean's mouth water. Gabriel sits down at his father's left hand without asking. 

Gabriel turns to his father. "Allow my companion to approach," Gabriel asks politely "As he is my property I am aware that he has no rights but those that my rank and the office I have entrusted him with give him. But Sam is his brother. Sam will soon be a lord in his own right, and Dean's status will be further elevated when Sam becomes Prince Sam of America. It will look bad in the eye of the people to let Dean stand in the back like a servant or a slave. He isn't one. The law may say so, but he is not. I would not have chosen him as my companion if he had not been who he is. For now, I own him, at least that is what he lets me believe, but we all know that his untoward situation will soon end."

The High Lord and Lady Magda exchange looks. "True," Lady Magda says. "It is both unfortunate and a blessing that you have decided to elevate Dean Winchester. We cannot go against our own laws, not just yet—" Lady Magda's eyes stray for a moment. Lord Alastair. "Or we could have solved Dean's little problem so easily. Despite the law, we cannot ignore the companion of one of the royal princes; that would allow our enemies leverage if they find we disrespect the commander and adviser of a Forever-Lord. Any Forever-Lord."

"And Dean _is_ Sam's brother. The Forever-Lords know love as humans do, or something close to it. How can we refuse Sam's brother at this happy hour? It will create trouble for us, but let us forget about those for tonight. We are all stronger if we show a united front." The High Lord waves at Dean. "Approach, Dean Winchester, and take your rightful place at Lord Gabriel's side."

Captain Inias hastens to fetch yet another throne-like chair, but Dean will have none of it. He looks at Sam, sending him a reassuring smile. He knows what he must do. Lord Gabriel has showed him nothing but kindness and respect, apart from a few mishaps, and now Dean can reciprocate.There is one thing he knows with a deep certainty: if he takes that chair now, allows himself the relief of being elevated to a status he isn't able to hold because of the stupid laws, Gabriel will lose status. If he takes that chair, it will provide a chink in the armor that his enemies, Alastair especially, are going to use and abuse. The High Lord has offered him a seat, showed him respect, so Dean can politely refuse it, appearing content and happy with his situation, which isn't very far from the truth. Of course he'd rather be free, sitting at Gabriel's side, but he will not undermine Gabriel's power. He will never do anything to hurt the man who saved him and pulled him out of Alastair's grasp at the day of the auction, the man he loves. 

So Dean steps forward, bowing deeply for the High Lord and his Lady. "Thank you, Your Royal Highnesses," Dean says and signals to Captain Inias that he does not need the chair. "Thank you for allowing me to partake in the celebration, and thank you for the honor you show me. I am grateful, but I cannot allow you to bend the laws of our kingdom for my sake. I am content, I have everything I need right here." He takes a step back without looking, knowing that he is right at Gabriel's side. Proudly Dean kneels on the floor, this time not three steps behind Lord Gabriel but at his side. As his equal and as his property, both. 

Lord Gabriel reaches out and rests his hand on Dean's shoulder. He leans down. "I'm proud of you, Dean." Lord Gabriel's lips slide over Dean's hair, pressing gentle kiss on his temple. "I might let you go unpunished tonight."

Dean looks up, his eyes burning. He lets it show, he wants to leave no doubt that he wants Gabriel before anything else. "Please, don't, My Lord," Dean says in a sultry tone that makes Lord Gabriel cheeks heat up. "Please don't."

Across the small circle made up of the royal family, Dean cannot but help see Sam's frown. From under lowered eyelashes, Dean watches his brother, slightly confused. Dean thinks that he might have looked like that once, before he understood why Lord Gabriel wanted him so badly, and why. Before he was taught the pleasure and safety of giving himself up for some time to Lord Gabriel's loving and occasionally painful care. Before he understood the level of trust that would grow between them because of it. "I'm fine," Dean mouths silently, knowing that Sam will understand that. To underline that he is here of his own free will, Dean murmurs a soft, "Please, My Lord, for the sake of my brother's nerves," and puts a possessive hand on Lord Gabriel's thigh, signaling that the ownership certainly goes both ways. 

Lord Gabriel puts his hand on top of Dean's, stroking it gently. "Sam should know by now that he need not suspect me of mistreating you," Lord Gabriel says quietly, strangely intense. "I promised him that I would care for you, and I will keep that promise to the day you... To the day you are released from your servitude."

"I know," Dean says, oddly touched, pulled out of his submission for a second, needing to be right there, in the moment with Gabriel. "I trust you, Gabe."

Gabriel makes a soft snort. "Enough to use my nickname where others might hear? Be careful, they might think you like me."

Considering a cocky switchblade reply, Dean decides against it and goes for honesty instead. "And would that be so bad? I do like you, My Lord Gabriel. I'd like you even more if I could speak with Sam right about now. He owes me an explanation."

"I might like one from Lucifer as well. They've been very secretive, haven't they?" Patting Dean on the shoulder, Lord Gabriel stands. "Behave, pet."

"Don't I always?" Dean grins.

"Luckily, no." Gabriel smiles and shakes his head. "Go speak with your brother. When you are done, bid my father goodnight and return to our chambers. Prepare yourself for punishment _and_ for pleasure," Gabriel adds, his words drowned out by the sounds of music and voices that clash around them as peace, but no quiet, settles across the great hall.

"Yes, My Lord." Dean can't stop himself from shivering. He is glad that he's kneeling because when he kneels the thin layers of silk cover him and his stirring dick, at least a little. The anticipation is getting to him already; he'll be aroused and willing to beg for it when Lord Gabriel joins him in the suite. Waiting for punishment and for Gabriel's kisses is torment and aphrodisiac mixed up and intertwined. Dean closes his eyes and sighs. Fuck, Lord Gabriel has him conditioned worse than one of Pavlov's dogs.

When Dean opens his eyes again, Gabriel is gone, and Sam is sitting in the chair that Gabriel left. 

"Are you okay?" Sam asks. He reaches for Dean, then regrets it and puts the hand back in his own lap. "You are—" He points with a finger at the elaborate chains.

"Willing. Oh, you have no idea," Dean says. The usual 'I don't wanna talk about it' song and dance ain't going to work here because Sam already knows about the piercings and about why Dean has them. "I told you. Gabriel will never do anything to me that I haven't allowed him to do to me."

"I don't want to know." Sam does look slightly shocked. 

"You already know. So what, no hot and deviant sex between you and your husband-to-be? And now that I remember, didn't you forget to tell me about that insignificant little decision? Because it was totally awesome standing up here, not knowing who was coming through those gates to be presented to the court as Lord Lucifer's fiancé."

Sam looks truly sorry and very happy at the same time. " _I_ didn't _know_ , not for sure. I mean, Lucifer had hinted at it, and asked that I didn't say anything before he knew what to do. He asked me this afternoon, just before we left. To marry him, I mean. He had to get the High Lord's accept first." Sam looks around and leans in, conspiratorially. "If he'd said no, I think we'd have had a war at our hands. Lucifer was very determined."

"So asking now... that was merely for show."

Sam's smile is tense. "Yeah. Even Lucifer would not surprise his father like that. The power games the Forever-Lords play, Dean..."

"I know. Heaven, do I know! And you'll be one of them soon. Prince Lord Sam, or what? Can't they just choose one?" 

"It has to do with their own terms, I guess. Mixed with ours." Sam shrugs. "I'll be _His Royal Highness Prince Sam Winchester, Lord of Justice, Duke of Kansas_. Lord Sam on a daily basis, I suppose. They have decided already. It's insane. But I guess we won't ever have to worry about money again." Sam looks over his shoulder, at Lord Lucifer. "Although I couldn't care less. If he'd been poor, or sick or... We're made for each other, Dean, he's right about that. I'd have taken him no matter what he was. Now I'll have to learn to play the game too. Alastair's faction... They have to have their wings clipped. And I need to know how to use a pair of scissors."

Sam looks so serious, so grown-up and powerful. Dean still isn't amazingly fond of Lucifer, helpful as he's been, but Sam gets a life with him, one he is ready for. Happiness. Love. Dean imagines his tall, handsome brother amongst the alien Forever-Lords and the humans they have elevated into power. Sam fits in. He has got the beauty and the brains to do well. With Lucifer at his side, Dean gives Lord Michael or Lord Raphael little chance to take the throne after the High Lord, should his 'forever' be cut short by unforeseen circumstances. With Sam at his side, the next High Lord will be Prince Lucifer. Or perhaps Gabriel if Lord Lucifer still hasn't come to terms with humanity as a whole.

It hits Dean. "So Gabriel's stunt..."

"Naming you his companion? Yeah. Well, it's Gabriel, so it'll pass, but it could have been damaging, taking the High Lord by surprise like that. I think it is a wise move. Unless the High Lord is able to convince the council that the Cage rules need to be altered, and you should have your status reversed, we need to protect you as well as possible. Acknowledging you as his partner helps a lot. It is clear that if anyone threatens you to get to the High Lord, they will be threatening Lucifer and Gabriel too. Not to speak of the High Lady Magda — she's not pleasant when she's getting all worked up, Lucifer assures me. Bobby and Ellen are on our side, nobody doubts that. Gabriel actually did well because I think it made the royal family stand closer together. Us. Lord Alastair has to be a glutton for punishment if he dares go against us." 

Dean thinks that Sam's assessment is very accurate, and he nods. "Mostly Gabriel wanted to make it very clear that my position and status is not something that pulls him down or makes him ashamed."

Sam throws his arms around Dean and hugs him, making Dean gasp for air. "Why would it? You are still you. Just be careful, all right?"

"Put me down, stupid." Dean laughs, letting his happiness surface, despite politics and servitude and stalkerish Forever-Lords. "Alastair is a psycho, but he's not invincible. I can handle him."

"I mean it. Be careful, Dean. You have four months left, and until then, you're not invincible either."

"True. I never were. I mean, Benny kicked the shit out of me in the Cage. But at least something good came from it." Dean returns the hug with one of his own. "I guess the His Haughtiness Prince Lucifer out of whose Ass the Sun Shines makes you happy. Congratulations, bro."

"Dude! And you're almost naked, and Gabriel is glaring at me." Sam laughs, slightly forced. "Seriously, you and that guy... what are you—"

"Yeah. I don't want to talk about it. I love him, our little games are consensual, we're having fun, I'm leaving him when the year is over. You know all that already. And now that we're not talking about it anyway, _I_ have to leave."

"Why? You are allow—"

"Firstly, as not to make the High Lord look bad. I'm officially lower than trash and I cramp his style. Secondly, to make _me_ look good. Lord Gabriel has requested my company and he likes... certain things."

"You're going to dress up... down... undress? So that he can ravish you in his chambers while we're celebrating here? Really, Dean?"

"Shut up. It could have been Lord Alastair, and I wouldn't have been able to leave the room without crutches. Or I'd have been dead." Dean deliberately moves so that he is in Sam's face. "I like what Gabriel does to me. I can give you a full account if you don't stop pestering me. Better listen good, you know, for tips."

"No!" Sam steps back. "TMI, Dean!"

"Then stop looking as if you're a prissy '50es housewife. I'm off, Bro. Take care of things for me, yeah."

"Jerk."

"Love you too, bitch." Dean shoves Sam lightly. He straightens his flimsy robe as he moves between the guests, careful not to touch any of them. He finds Captain Inias who stands in the back of the hall, surveying the room and the guests. 

Dean gets close enough to get his attention without shouting. "Captain Inias?"

The captain bows politely. "Sir?"

"I need to approach the High Lord. Lord Gabriel has requested that I withdraw. I'm not sure about etiquette, but... erm..."

"Oh." Captain Inias nods. "Lord Gabriel hasn't informed you of proper court procedure?"

Dean laughs. "It's Lord Gabriel. Do I need to say more?"

Captain Inias's serious expression looks a little bit less serious. "It would be incredibly disrespectful of me to reply to that question, or to imply that your theory has merit. Instead, allow me to instruct you."

"Please."

"Approach, bow, ask the High Lord and Lady's permission to withdraw as Lord Gabriel has decided that it would be too much of a strain for you to stay any longer."

"Strain? Do I need remind you exactly how far I got in the Cage?" 

"Hardly. If I may say so, Sir, I would be proud to have you as a soldier in the High Lord's guard. It is merely rhetoric. You'll learn. Say one thing, do another. That's the way of the court."

"Awesome. But... thanks, man."

"At your service, Sir. Any time."

Dean appreciates it. He thinks he might have found an ally in this throng of power-hungry beings. He follows Captain Inias as he discreetly interrupts the High Lord and Lady in their conversation with Lord Raphael. The High Lord's eyes aren't unfriendly. 

Clueless about the more advanced rules of the court, Dean sticks to the advice he got from Captain Inias. "My apologies, Your Royal Highnesses," he says, bowing. Not as deeply as the servants, but deeper than Sam did earlier. "If you will allow me to withdraw."

"I was pleased to see you here, Dean Winchester," the High Lord says. "Gabriel has been..." he pauses.

"A slut," Lady Magda says coldly. "Not that there is anything wrong with that, but I always wished for him to find someone suitable, someone to make him _content_. He's always been flitting around like a confused butterfly, never interested in any man or woman for more than a night."

"Restless. I wanted to say restless," the High Lord attempts, sending Lady Magda a look. "You've been good for him, Dean."

"Thank you, Your Highness. It is not as if I had much of a say in it, but I'm not complaining."

"Let the boy go," Lady Magda says. "Can't you see he's impatient, Chuck? I'm sure Gabriel has plans for him." She leans in and whispers in the High Lord's ear, and Dean is slightly baffled when he realizes that the High Lord is blushing.

"Yes, erm— yes, of course, my dear." The High Lord looks excited and he is still blushing. He gets a grip and directs his attention to Dean. "You may leave, Dean. Come back and visit us when Gabriel is less, erm, occupied," the High Lord says, attempting to wipe the blush off of his face.

Dean wonders for a second whether he and the High Lord share certain... interests.


	10. A Wave to Pant Beneath Thy Power

Captain Inias follows Dean through the hall. "Do you wish me to escort you to your chambers, Sir?" he asks, probably more out of politeness than out of actual consideration. The castle is quiet outside the great hall.

Dean appreciates the polite offer. As the captain has mentioned earlier, Dean is able to defend himself if anything unfortunate should happen and they both know it. So, politeness. "Thanks, Captain, but I think I can manage three minutes alone without turning into a damsel in distress."

"As you wish, Sir." Captain Inias withdraws discreetly, no hidden menace or contempt in his words, nor in the appreciative glance he sends Dean as goodbye.

The broad corridor is dim despite the row of torches that lines the stone walls. A few sleepy guards are stationed there, not too far between them, but since there is no imminent threats from enemies of the High Lord, the High Lord's guards are not exactly alert. Dean snorts. If they were his soldiers they'd all be cleaning toilets with toothbrushes by now. Or without the toothbrushes. _Yeah, without_ them, Dean decides; he has little patience with soldiers who aren't behaving like soldiers.

The cool night air is cold enough to make the castle feel a bit chilly. Dean's thin robe does little to warm him up. He hurries towards Gabriel's chambers; he hopes that the servants have a decent fire burning in the huge fireplace. Dean wants a long hot bath, although he suspects that it won't be that long. Gabriel isn't going to allow it; he has plans. Samandriel is not in sight, so hopefully the squire takes his time. Dean can do without the spectator since he has been ordered to wait for Gabriel, tied up and naked on the floor. Dean smiles. He surely will long for the cool air in the windy corridor before they are done. Gabriel has an infallible talent for making Dean burn hot. The thought of being on his knees for his Lord Gabriel, ready for him, willing and prepared helps too. Dean walks a bit faster. He really wants to be ready so they can go right on to the punishment Lord Gabriel has promised him. Maybe Dean should make do with a quick shower in case Gabriel wants to fuck him right away. Dean's cock hardens at the thought. Hopefully Gabriel's patience is as thin as Dean's. 

Indulging in the delicious fantasy of what Lord Gabriel is going do to him, Dean isn't aware that he is being followed, not until a thin, strong hand, unfamiliar in its sinewy, claw-like grip, closes around his torc and yanks him back and around, face first against the wall. 

"Ah!" Dean cries out at the impact. Unprepared, he isn't able to brace. It hurts. "What the—"

"Quiet, boy, and I might spare you."

Dean knows that voice, fears it, like he fears the man to whom it belongs. "Alastair, fuck!" Dean snarls, fighting back immediately. He knows that he cannot let Alastair have the upper hand. He's dead if he lets him. "No!" Dean steps back, one bare foot slamming down on Alastair's boot before he thrusts both elbows back into Alastair's stomach. Alastair grunts and shoves Dean up against the wall once more. Harder. 

"Be still, little catamite, and I might not kill you." Alastair grunts and hits Dean, a fist in the kidneys. "And it'd make me so sad if I did not get to torture you first, you filthy little slave."

Dean lets out a pained cry. The pain overwhelms him, red-tinged and white-hot and blood-tasting. He gasps for air, trying to fight through it as he did in the Cage. He lets himself relax, sagging heavy in Alastair's hands. Alastair might be many things, but a Cage fighter he is not. He's cruel and cunning, but he's not a close-combat fighter. Alastair might know torture, he might enjoy the suffering of his victims, but he doesn't know the raw truth of pain and survival. Not like Dean does. It is the only advantage Dean has and he is going to use it.

It's the only chance he has to stay alive.

"Don't, please," Dean whimpers, buying himself more time, pretending to obey, to give up. "Lord Alastair, please. Don't. Lord Gabriel will— Urgh!"

Another punch in the back. Dean moans and whimpers like a hurt dog, handing Alastair a pretend victory. The real one he'll never have. It'll be over Dean's dead body, because he'd rather be dead than in Alastair's dungeon. Dean lets his legs buckle under him, forcing Alastair to take all his weight.

"There's a good little whore, a good little bitch. Gods, I can't wait to get my hands on you," Alastair murmurs hoarsely, aroused by Dean's fake suffering. His fingers dig into Dean's flesh, nails tearing into him. "I want my hands in you, want to split you open, see what you're made of. What's inside you. Want to bury my hands in your intestines."

Dean gasps. Everybody knows that Alastair is a sick fuck, but this is worse than he had ever imagined. Dean knows from Gabriel exactly how afraid he should be of the High Lord's chief torturer, but Alastair is more insane than he'd imagined in his wildest nightmares. Dean can sense the dark urges, the truth in Alastair's words. This is something Alastair has done before. He has done it before, and he cannot wait to rip apart another victim.

So Dean waits, taking one deep breath, and then another, to calm himself. 

He has to wait, let Alastair indulge in the moment. 

He will get one chance. Unless help comes, he'll be through the void before he can fight back, ending his life in the personal hell that Alastair has created for those he abducts. Dean needs time.

Still limp, Dean looks for the guards, his head hanging as he squints in the dark. He is too far away from the great hall to be heard if he calls for help again; the noise from the celebration drowns everything out. No, he can't depend on help from anyone else. They're alone. Dean has to rely on his own strength. Dean is one hundred percent sure he'll never leave Alastair's castle alive. Dean has to keep Alastair in the High Lord's palace.

But Heaven is with Dean. Instead of fleeing, Alastair uses time on actually sniffing and groping at him. The creep is arrogant enough to underestimate his prey. Incredible, seeing that the man has studied Dean for months, his cold fish-eyes devouring his every move from the first time Dean set foot in the cage. Alastair should have known by now that cage-fighting isn't brute force. It's strategy, technique. _And_ brute force. 

Alastair's clammy lips slide over Dean's neck as he whispers his cruel, insane fantasies at him again, caught up in his lust for blood and pain. Mistake. 

Dean acts. This is his chance.

In an sudden display of speed and strength, Dean explodes in a backwards flip, using the wall and Alastair's body as leverage. In a second he is up and over Alastair, behind him.

Alastair gasps, grunts, and Dean hits, hits hard, harder than he has ever hit anyone in his entire life. One, two, three. Alastair's nose breaks and the skin over Dean's knuckles is split open when they crush Alastair's teeth. A fourth blow sends Alastair hard into the stone wall, the back of his head slamming into it with devastating force. The sickening crack it makes is highly satisfying. Dean looks at the Forever-Lord as he slides down the wall, sprawled out and unconscious on the floor, leaving a trace of blood and hair scraped off on the coarse surface. 

"Seems we both had the chance to see what's on the inside," Dean says and rubs his ruined right hand, smearing blood over it. "You bleed red like the rest of us." He tilts his head coldly, watching as blood and something white and gooey mix and spread over the floor. The stench of iron and shit is nauseating. Whether it is fear or his unconscious state that have made Alastair soil himself Dean doesn't know. He doesn't care.

Behind him, far down the corridor there are noises, commotion. There is a hot gust of wind that tastes like anger. Everything is so far away that Dean can't even be bothered to find out what and why. There is only him and Alastair here. Dean looks at the bleeding nobleman on the marble floor. It would be so _easy_ to finish it, to take a life that means little but torment and trouble to others. Just one hard kick, one hard yank, a neck broken and Lord Alastair's _forever_ has been cut short. 

But that is not how Dean is. That is not who he is. Dean is not a murderer, although he wouldn't hesitate to kill in open battle. Lord Alastair _is_ a monster, but he is a monster that his own has to take care of now. Dean huffs, a sound that is nothing but contempt. If he had his rights, if he wasn't little more than a slave, Lord Alastair would go to prison for what he did. Now? Dean doesn't know. Oh, it's tempting to take justice in his own hands. It's so tempting.

"Dean! Gods! Dean? Dean, come back to me. Dean?" 

Gabriel's voice is too far away, almost too far to reach Dean's mind on its strange walkabout. 

"Dean? Beloved? Are you hurt?"

Dean frowns at the strange tone in Gabriel's voice. Fear. _Beloved?_ That's not how they speak to each other.

"Dude," Dean groans, trying to make sense of things, the world widening as sound and touch make their appearance inside the shell that surrounds Dean. "Gabriel?" Dean reaches out blindly, reaching for safety and care and comfort. For love. For the man he loves. The shock of the attack zooms in on him, hits him, pulls him back into the cold reality of the corridor. He stumbles, suddenly weak and wobbly as a rag doll.

Gabriel's arms are around him. "Dean! Speak to me! Are you all right?" Gabriel's lips are warm and dry, pressing soft little caresses on his cheek. Dean clings to his lover. He is safe.

"My knuckles are bleeding," Dean says distractedly and holds up his hand, studying the bleeding bruise. The blood drips in a steady stream onto the floor. Maybe the wound is deeper than he thought. "Nothing to worry about." The world is still a little blurry and distant, but Dean's fine. Fine.

"You punched him in the face." It's not a question. "Well done." Gabriel sounds proud. "He had it coming. You handled it well." There's a pause. "Pity you didn't get in a few more. Fucker."

The adrenalin rush is fading. "He called me your... catamite. He said that he wanted to bury his hands in my intestines."

"If I may, Your Highness?" Captain Inias steps in, waving two soldiers forward to cease the unconscious Forever-Lord. "I assume that Lord Alastair followed you with the intent to attack you, Sir?" he asks, looking intently at Dean.

Dean gets the notion that he better agree to just about everything Captain Inias less than subtly suggests that he agrees to. "Yes. He did. And if it makes any difference, he confessed that he'd tortured and killed the other people. Those he bought... the other Seconds."

"Thank you, sir. Will you allow me to confirm your statement by looking into your mind?" Captain Inias asks, still polite.

"Look away," Dean says. Right now he doesn't care, not as long as he is in Gabriel's arms, and Lord Alastair is on his way to the dungeons.

Captain Inias's touch is gentle. The probe is over in a second. "Your companion speaks the truth, Your Highness, not that anyone were inclined to believe the opposite," Captain Inias says. He looks at Gabriel for confirmation, but he is acting prematurely, as if he knows what Gabriel's order will be even before it falls. "Take Alastair to the dungeon," Captain Inias demands. He hesitates. "See to it that Prisoner Alastair is seen by a healer and the Lord of Justice. Don't ask the High Castle's healer. It's going to be a waste of good energy. One of the apprentices will do. Maybe one of the less proficient?"

"Yes, the dungeon," Gabriel says, not attempting to sound the least sad about it, "since Alastair is so fond of them.

"The Lord of Ju—" Dean cuts himself off, frowning to understand. There is no Lord of Justice. Not yet. Not until Lucifer has married Sam. Dean looks questioningly at Gabriel. He's not sure whether the world is upside down or not. Everything is spinning, everything is changing, and Dean's head hurts.

"Yes, Sam, Lord of Justice. I don't think we need to wait for the marriage to acknowledge his rise to that particular post; the Council has accepted the proposition already. I am sure Lord Alastair's friends would hate it if we dawdle, justice must be carried out immediately; Alastair's faction are very firm when it comes to punishment, so who would we be as not to be firm as well. And now that Lord Alastair himself is incapacitated, we do not have to wait for Alastair's... some would call it interference, but I'll be polite and call it approval of Lord Sam." Gabriel tries not to sound worried, but Dean can hear it in his voice. Even in his dazed condition, Dean knows that the political situation might be about to blow up in their faces.

Gabriel keeps touching Dean, calming him as he turns to Captain Inias. "Prince Lucifer should accompany Lord Sam to see the prisoner. My brother is well-versed in various interrogation techniques. You may want the Lord of Justice there to prevent Lord Alastair's untimely survival." Gabriel's smile is not a smile. It is a tense line of sharp white teeth and hatred. "And let my father know that Alastair has broken the law by attacking my companion. If that is not enough, remind him that Alastair tried to cease my property with the explicit purpose of ruining it. Go. Immediately, if you please. I am going to take care of Dean. You may speak to Dean tomorrow after breakfast, Captain. For now, I need to see to Dean's needs. Please beg for my father's patience in regards to my companion. Dean needs rest. Anyone who wants to speak to him can do so tomorrow."

Dean doesn't say anything. From what Gabriel just said, Lord Alastair is not going to see the sunset. Any sunset. Sam will take care of that. If Alastair isn't dead before then. Dean is pretty sure that brain matter is supposed to stay inside the skull and the white slime on the floor looks very much like brain tissue.

Captain Inias bows. He doesn't protest. There is a cruel smile on his face, as if he thinks that Lord Alastair has deserved every bit of nastiness that comes his way. "Immediately, Your Highness. I have studied Commander Winchester's memory in detail, so any further interrogation shouldn't be necessary. I pray that your companion will be well. I bid you both goodnight," he adds politely and hurries after the four guards who are dragging an unconscious Alastair down the broad corridor.

"Come." Gabriel gently pushes Dean towards their chambers. "Let's get out of here." Gabriel sounds more worried than Dean has ever heard him. He shouldn't be. Dean is shaken, sure, but not broken. He's fought all his life; he's not easily rattled. He'd been jumped before; that's what happen to people who hustle. But the whispered admission from Alastair, the confession that never should have been heard by anyone but Dean... that shook him more than he is willing to admit. 

"He told me about those others, only because he'd have killed me," Dean says, telling no one in particular, he just wants the words out, he wants the memory out in the open.

"But he didn't. You beat him," Gabriel says. "You're strong, stronger than I thought." There is a strange awe in the way Gabriel looks at him now. "We Forever-Lords are so much more powerful than humans, and yet... Sometimes I wonder if even I underestimate you."

"You believe me to be your _puer delicatus_?"

It earns Dean a look. "I... what? You read Latin now too?"

"You know I do. It's your library I'm using. Or maybe I'm just dizzy and all sorts of random shit has decided to surface."

"Well, I didn't think you read that kind of books. And you are nothing like a puer delicatus."

"If you look at it from outside, that is exactly what I am. Not protected by law. I'm a thing. A delicate child-slave."

"Eromenós. _Beloved_." Gabriel stops outside the door to their chambers. "If you want to resort to foreign languages, let's take Greek. Because that's what you are to me. Eromenós. My young beloved. Not my love-slave. Well, only when you want to be."

 _Eromenós_? The word echoes strangely in Dean's brain. It's foreign and beautiful and soothing. It soothes him and wraps itself around him the way Gabriel wraps his trust around him, a protective cocoon of peace and pleasure. _Beloved_. It is something Dean has never been to anyone; he has never been the target of such intense feelings. He has Sam's brotherly love, and he loves Sam the same way, if a bit more patronizing, he'll admit that. But beloved... that, Dean has never been and it feels scary and strange and safe at the same time. It makes his heart beat faster. 

They reach Gabriel's chambers and the peace and quiet they offer are as alluring as a safe haven in a storm. Samandriel is there, outside their rooms, slightly breathless, as if he's been running, confused or anxious enough to forget to step through the void, perhaps. The usually so correct squire looks disheveled and anxious. "Dean, are you..." He stops and collects himself, visibly turning from a normal sixteen year old boy into a well-behaved soon-to-be Forever-Lord. "My apologies, My Lord. Sir," he says and bows. "Servants are preparing for you. The bath is ready and I have sent for fruit and iced water."

Yeah, Samandriel has been taught well. "I'm fine.Thank you," Dean tells Samandriel, Dean's distress fading faster than Gabriel's for some reason. "You want to stay with us?" Dean asks. "Dean knows that their games make Samandriel uncomfortable at times, tonight they will do so even more, Dean is certain. Dean knows what he needs to forget: he needs Lord Gabriel's violent dominance to counteract Alastair's attack. He's not sure Samandriel will understand the immense difference.

"Go to Lord Robert," Gabriel says. "Tell him I asked you to stay at the Salvaged Palace for the night. He'll take good care of you and keep you safe."

Samandriel bows obediently, relieved. He walks away, fast, as if he cannot wait to get under Lord Robert and Lady Ellen's wings. "Chicken," Dean murmurs, not entirely fair to the young, brave squire.

* 

Pleased to find his airy chambers of his childhood warm, Gabriel urges Dean further inside. The lights are low, golden, reflected in the white walls and the polished white-painted furniture. With a wave of a hand, Gabriel moves the couch closer to the fireplace. There is a small table, too, set with plates and delicacies for them to enjoy, as if they'd have any appetite left after dealing with someone as unappetizing as Alastair. 

Dean's confusion, caught between anger relief, makes Gabriel concentrate on nothing but his lover. He turns to him, holding out a hand for him, wanting to offer him comfort. He cannot stand to see Dean so caught up in such tumultuous feelings. Dean is shivering. Gabriel senses Dean's unsteady heartbeat, an almost imperceptible pulse in the air. It's too fast, Dean's heart fluttering like a scared little bird under Gabriel's hand. Dean's strength is crumbling, the solid foundation that usually supports him through every ordeal is turning into sand.

It is Gabriel's failure, his fault, that Alastair almost, _almost_ took what he desired so much. Gabriel has to force his fierce hatred and rage down. He cannot start a thunderstorm here, now, not when Dean needs him to be calm and supportive. Dean matters, Dean is all that matters. High Lord, Gabriel loves him so. 

Dean stops in the middle of the room, pushing Gabriel's arm off his shoulder. He stays there, frozen, halfway between the door and the couch, as if he's trying to make sense of how his world suddenly flipped over and sent him into a violent spin. Dean might have killed a monster tonight, but the monster is still one of the ruling lords of America, and the consequences of his actions have yet to be determined. Gabriel understands Dean's distress. Nobody is going to mourn Alastair's upcoming demise, but that doesn't mean that it'll pass without trouble. Alastair is not gone yet, though. It is merely a question of hours, Gabriel is sure. If Alastair isn't dead when Sam and Lucifer get their hands on him, he will be soon thereafter. Gabriel knows his big brother. Nobody messes with those Lucifer loves. 

Yeah, Alastair is dead, all right, yet still breathing. Maybe. 

"If he had succeeded," Dean says, entirely in sync with Gabriel's thoughts, "taking me to his palace, he would have rendered the High Lord powerless in the eyes of the court and the Council, and it would have been your downfall, your faction's downfall. Alastair's side would have won, and America would have been turned into a torture chamber. The Cage sales..." Dean pauses. "It made him want more. He thought he could get away with it because nobody dared go against him and stop the selling of Seconds."

"He's a sick fuck whose reins have been too loose for far too long." Gabriel looks sad. "You are right. We should have stopped selling the Seconds a long time ago. Bobby told us, repeatedly, that it would be our downfall to allow it. Ellen too. Castiel, even; he always loved humans. But we knew better, thought it would be proper to let the humans indulge, let the games to go as they started. The High Lord was afraid to lose power, to lose America. He thought he did what was best for us—all of us. Bread for the people, entertainment to forget the storms and the sand and the drought and the floods. Keeping the opposition at bay, avoiding confrontation. My father is kind, but he doesn't do war well. Or politics." 

"It is not a bad thing to be merciful," Dean says. "But it's frigging stupid when creatures such as Alastair are reaching for the throne. Especially when they are close enough to be able to take it."

Gabriel nods. He's not really up for analyzing the internal power struggles in the American Council right now, but if it makes Dean feel better, Gabriel will willingly discuss politics, the finer aspects of customizing antique My Little Ponies or any other topic that suits his lover. Anything that keeps Dean's mind at ease. "We knew... We all knew what Alastair was doing. We should have stopped it, taken the risk, even without evidence. Then again, we have standards. Moral. Alastair didn't. It will be easier now, making those changes. And you, Dean... your freedom was culled by Alastair's attempts to use you or kill you. Lady Abaddon we can handle. She is a fanatic, a traditionalist, but she does not have Alastair's affinity for torture or unlawful appropriation of Seconds. She is tough, a real hardliner, but she isn't insane."

"With Alastair gone..." Dean takes a step closer to Gabriel. "She certainly is going to reap the benefits of his demise. I read the files you keep on her. You think she egged him on?"

"And the benefits are that she is alive, the leader of the traditionalist faction, and Alastair is not. Yeah, she might have; she is cunning and ruthless enough to have plotted against him. She won't like that their faction lost power and credibility tonight, though, thanks to you, so don't think you made a friend. She is sane enough to understand that the only options her faction had for staying in power were for their side to take over entirely—or get rid of Alastair. Lady Abaddon is a realist. Contrary to Alastair she wants to cooperate as long as she gets something in return. It's going to be difficult negotiations, but she'll cooperate. The Council meetings are going to be considerably more pleasant in the future. You did good tonight, Dean, for all of us."

"At your service." Dean looks exhausted. "If only the High Lord was able to rule a little bit more—" He stops, mid move, as if he doesn't know what to do, lost. "What's going to happen to me? Gabriel, what am I going to do now?" There is a deep helplessness in the way Dean's shoulders sag, in the way he closes his eyes, worn out.

Gabriel embraces Dean, supporting him as he sags, exhausted.Dean's tired insecurity speaks more than words. Dean is done, there is no more left, and Gabriel's duty to him is to offer him relief and comfort. He cups Dean's cheek, letting out a small sigh as Dean almost melts into the touch. "Nothing. Nothing is going to happen to you. I won't let anything happen to you. Inias saw your memory, and as your memory cannot lie, the Council will know that you told the truth about the attack. They are not going to do anything to you; you acted in self-defense." Gabriel kisses Dean's lips, a subdued kiss, more a question than a kiss, a brush of lips against lips.

Dean kisses back and Gabriel relaxes infinitesimally. Thank Heaven they're still good. Gabriel doesn't know what he would do without his beloved. "You could have died tonight. I could have lost you," Gabriel murmurs, the gravity of the situation finally pulling him down. "Oh, Dean, Dean..." This time it is Gabriel who clings to Dean in desperation.

"You didn't lose me." It sounds brave, but Gabriel knows his boy well enough to understand that it's merely a cover for what is going on behind the tired eyes. 

"I will never regret that I bought you," Gabriel says, rubbing Dean's back soothingly, as much to comfort Dean as to calm himself. "Unpleasant and inhuman as it might have been to be bought. But I wish I had handled it better. I never wished for you to be caught up in the struggle between the Forever-Lords. If Alastair had hurt you, it'd been my fault." Gabriel lets out a shaky breath. "I could have lost you," he says again. It is too much, the mere thought, to possibility in itself, is too much.

Dean clutches at Gabriel's tunic, hard enough for the thin fabric to surrender and tear under the pull. "You'd rather have kept me like a breathing ornament, is that it? Kept me out of your life, away from the decisions we made together? To decorate your living room or your arm? You'd rather I have stayed your thing?"

"Don't be stupid, Dean. You know I... " Gabriel gives up. He can't. Death and unhappiness passed them by by an inch. It was so close. So close. Dean almost lost his life because of Gabriel's immense idiocy. "I'm sorry," Gabriel says, tightening his embrace. "Dean, I'm so sorry." The guilt and the self-blame and the pain of the loss that didn't happen get to him, more painful than he'd thought possible. "I should... I don't know..." Gabriel doesn't know how to tell Dean what he feels. He is not used to confide in anyone this way.

Dean tenses, pulls back a little. "Gabe, no, don't. Don't be sorry. Are you sorry you took me in? You regret everything now?"

Gabriel can feel it, something wet on his cheeks. Surprised, he lets go of Dean with one hand and brings it to his face to see what it is. It is clear and warm. His own tears. "I—" he says, his voice breaking. For a second the splendor of something new and intense overshadows everything else before the emotions that go with the little drops take over. "I could have lost you forever," Gabriel says, swallowing the lump in his throat. These new feelings are so very _human_. He has never cried before and it is strange that the intense feelings he has for Dean concentrate and condense like that, into salty little drops of pain. 

Clinging to Dean, Gabriel lets out a strained gasp. "I could have lost you," he says again, burying his head at Dean's neck. "It would have killed me." He lets out another shaky breath against Dean's neck, entirely unable to repair the chink in the armor. His heart wants out, swelling and pounding like a wild river on a crumbling dam. "Dean, I love you," he says, voice hoarse from unshed tears. "Heaven, Dean, I love you so much."

Dean says something Gabriel cannot hear. Dean shivers, takes a deep, trembling breath, and Gabriel raises his head to look at his lover. Dean isn't crying, but his eyes are glazed over. 

"Dean?" Gabriel has so much tenderness, so much love for Dean that it threatens to spill over again, more tears, more confessions.

"I never meant to fall in love you," Dean says, eyes closed, a tense expression on his face, his lips shivering. "I couldn't help it. I didn't want to, but I fell in love with you."

Gabriel can hardly breathe. What he was wished would come to be has happened. Dean is his, truly his! "Baby... Dean... Oh." They stand quietly for a long time, not speaking or doing anything, just holding each other tight, until they are able to breathe again. It is a miracle, nothing short of a miracle. 

Dean is like putty in his hands, pliant in a way that Gabriel has never experienced before, as if he has finally given in entirely. It has nothing to do with submission or dominance, it is a primordial urge, a deep, deep need. It resonates in Gabriel as well, and for the first time in his very long life he thinks that he finally understands human emotion. What Dean feels is so pure and simple and _beautiful_ that Gabriel would have to lose his entire ability to think or feel as not to recognize it.

Love.

High Lord, Love! Gabriel can feel it inside himself, this odd resonance, as if they are two musical instruments, finally in tune with each other, playing some otherworldly music, too foreign and too alluring to describe.

"I want to give you everything," Dean whispers, refusing to let go when Gabriel tries to lead him towards the couches. He sounds so desperate, as if this love-thing is bad.

"I love you," Gabriel says again. "Let me take care of you, Dean, please? It's not the end of the world, kiddo."

"You don't know that."

"Actually, I do. Near-omniscience and all that shit. I'm sure my father would have said something, in case you were actually destined to jump-start an apocalypse by falling in love."

Dean relaxes and lets out a low chuckle. "Can't argue with that." He releases his iron grip on Gabriel's tunic. "Fuck it. I'm not going to do something girly about it, are we clear?"

The tension eases a bit. Dean handles shock and trauma a bit too well, yet they can deal with it better when they are able to be less on edge. At least they won't be on edge because of Alastair.

"And they say romance is dead." Gabriel doesn't care but grabs Dean's face between his hands and kisses him, dragging out the kiss with little nibbles on his lower lip and licks into his mouth until he surrenders. "Don't know if you have noticed the distinct lack of girls in here," Gabriel finally says when he's done kissing Dean breathless. "I'd say that it's probably a 100% guarantee that nobody is going to do any girly stuff, what with the lack of girls here." He locks eyes with Dean, looking at him, really looking. "You okay, baby?" 

Dean's defenses are lowered again. He nods, his eyes soft and sad. "I need you."

"You have me. Heaven, Dean, you have me." They exchange another kiss before Gabriel takes Dean's hand and leads him, much easier this time, towards the couch in front of the fireplace.

Gabriel doesn't ask and Dean doesn't protest when Gabriel helps him to sit. The ruined robes are discarded like trash on the floor. Dean allows him to stroke his arms where Alastair's disgusting hands touched him, for the second time leaving a trace of his violence on Dean's perfect skin. Gabriel wishes the bruises away, getting up on his knees to examine Dean's back for more bruises. There is a red mark where a fist has landed, right above the kidneys. "Alastair should be grateful that Lucifer got to him before I got the chance," Gabriel murmurs, keeping his voice low as not to cry out the furious rage that simmers inside him. "His death at Lucifer's hands will be merciful compared to what I'd have done to him." Gabriel leans in and inhales Dean's scent, a touch of sandalwood, cinnamon and roses. It calms him. Good. He needs to focus on Dean, and not on what he'd have done to Alastair.

Dean hums as Gabriel puts his hands on his waist, stroking his loins, undoing the damage that Alastair has done. They sit for a while as Gabriel erases the marks, makes tissue mend under his hands. They don't talk. Gabriel touches instead, watches as Dean's body speak to him. As the pain subsides, the muscles in Dean's back stop being knots and ropes under his skin. Gabriel brushes his hands down Dean's back, making sure it is back to its former flawless perfection. He presses a kiss between Dean's shoulder blades, lingering for second before he gets up. Gabriel smiles, content with the result. He caresses Dean's shoulder, pressing lightly at it to make him lie down. 

Dean looks up at him, wide-eyed and with the pink lips slightly parted. Expectant. Gabriel strokes Dean's cheek, as if to tell him to obey and wait. Dean's lips curl upwards, not a smile, not quite. Reassurance.

Having dismissed Samandriel and their servants, Gabriel fetches water, scented with a handful of rose petals, Gabriel's favorite roses. He wants Alastair's stench off Dean, he wants his love to be clean and fresh and _his_. Gabriel doesn't want any servants to be present for this. He wants the purging of Alastair and all his works to be between them, between him and Dean, no disturbances, no spectators.

When Gabriel returns with the perfumed water, Deans smile has returned as well. Gabriel's heart takes a few unsolicited somersaults. Dean locks eyes with him, an intense, determined look on his face. Slowly he raises his hands over his head, wrists crossed.

Gabriel is, without question, at Dean's service. 

He ties Dean up with a soft silken cord. The rope is thin and the knot loose; Dean can get out of it in a second. The submission is given so, so willingly, and Gabriel's dominance is merely symbolic. It is a sign of their devotion, it is a sign of the love Gabriel has for his perfect boy. Gabriel doesn't speak, but he allows Dean to see the adoration, the worship, the deep love in his eyes, in his actions. 

Gabriel gently wipes down every inch of Dean's body, freeing it of the chains that adorns it. Gabriel is replacing sweat and grime and unwanted touches with the sweet fragrance of summer roses. All the time Dean's eyes are on him, the need in them almost driving Gabriel to hurry. He doesn't have time to hurry. He has time to do it right. It feels to him almost like a ritual, the preparation of a precious sacrifice for a deity. Gabriel can go with that, seeing that the gift will be for him, his precious, brave human, all his.

When he is done, Dean's relief is visible. They have wiped Alastair off, out, away.

Time for pleasure and for Dean to find that place inside himself that gives him peace. 

Dean surrenders, stretching, pressing himself against Gabriel's mouth when his lips touches Dean's knee. Oh, there is time. Hours counted in kisses, Gabriel claiming what is his, every little piece of naked skin claimed with lips and tongue. Time doesn't matter and Gabriel makes sure that every inch of Dean's body is anointed with kisses.

Finally Dean is driven so far out that tenderness becomes torture. He is hard and moaning, ready for more. He begs. It is merely a few sighs, a soft, "Please, My Lord, please?" 

The long session has left them both raw and vulnerable. The power and the games they have created together are still there, but now, tonight, they are like precious plates of armor, shed and left behind so that there is no place that isn't soft and open and available. It is as they both need to be bared, chains off, only the raw truth of what they are, and what they are to each other.

Tonight they both need _quiet_. Tonight they need the intensity of slow. So Gabriel caresses Dean, opens him until he is moaning and sighing, the only sounds in the silence of the room. Gabriel slides into his lover, the invitation of spread legs enough to spiral his arousal. He rocks into him, sometimes hard, sometimes slow and deep and careful. They are both quiet, still, as if loud lust is but a disturbance. Dean's legs are tightly wound around Gabriel's back, holding him tight. The message is clear: Gabriel is Dean's. And with one hand on Dean's bound wrists, Gabriel states his claim, too: Dean is his, his, his. 

Their lovemaking becomes an extension of the feelings they have for each other, finally recognized. They are one. They belong together.

"I love you," Gabriel whispers over and over when he finally allows himself release and voice. He didn't think happiness would feel like this. In the storm of his intense orgasm, Dean gasping under him, Gabriel hears his words spoken back, almost drowned out by Dean's moans.

"Love you, can't live without you, love you," Dean tells him, over and over and over.

*

Captain Inias arrives at the exact same moment as Dean empties his cup of German mocha. The coffee isn't half as good as the one he drinks at the Sky Palace, and he finds himself longing to go... home. Only he can't. Not yet. There is still the interrogation and the case against Alastair to deal with.

"The Council has called for a meeting," Captain Inias informs them, handing Gabriel a note. "We are all grieving the death of Alastair, Lord of Torment."

"I'm not. And it is highly questionable that Dean is going to cry over him anytime soon," Gabriel says, looking extraordinarily smug. "Also, I'd try to look slightly less pleased with the situation if I were you, Captain; your schadenfreude is showing." He gets up from his own chair and walks over to stand next to Dean. Dean can feel the reassuring warmth from his lover, even without being touched.

Dean puts down the cup. He can feel a deep relief wash over him. No Seconds will ever again have to fear the destiny that befell those who ended up in Alastair's dungeon. "Don't hold back on my behalf, Captain. Sam or Lucifer?"

"Luckily, neither. Lord Alastair died in the hands of the healers."

"That's something." Dean is a little relieved, too, that Sam had no hand in it. "And me? What do I do?"

"You are asked to the Council as well. As the companion of a prince of the court—"

"But I'm—" Dean touches the despised torc. "Thing."

"Don't, Dean." Gabriel puts a hand on his back, and Dean leans into the touch. "It's going to change now." He bends down and presses his forehead to Dean's cheek. "It's going to change now, baby."

At some point, in between Dean sliding his arms around Gabriel's waist and kissing him a little too hotly, Captain Inias has disappeared as quietly as he entered.

*

Oh, there are changes all right. Dean sees it right away when they enter the Council hall. The entire Council has gathered, and only Gabriel's chair is free. Gabriel's—and another chair next to it.

The High Lord nods as they enter. "Commander Winchester," the High Lord says, "I hope you are well. Allow me to express the Council's _unanimous_ apology for the former Lord Alastair's behavior. It could have been prevented, had the Council acted earlier. Please, take your seat. As my son's companion and as the commander of his guard, you are entitled to sit amongst us."

That certainly was unexpected. So no interrogation and no trial, then. And no talk about sitting on the floor. Dean lets out a relieved sigh as he slides down next to Gabriel, Lord Bobby and Lady Ellen on his left. Lord Bobby pats Dean's knee. He feels more like a human, less like a thing. 

"Well done, boy," Lord Bobby whispers into his ear, loud enough for everybody to hear.

High Lady Magda stands. Her perfume is a weak whiff of spring and flowers. "Our first task today is to hear Captain Inias's testimony. Captain Inias was allowed access to Commander Winchester's memory of the crime committed against him, immediately after the attack. Captain Inias?"

Dean's favorite member of the High Lord's staff steps forward. "High Lady, it is as you stated: Lord Alastair tried to cease Commander Winchester with the explicit purpose of bringing him to his palace, and there murder him after having tortured him. It proves without any doubt that Commander Winchester merely used the force necessary to defend himself. That Lord Alastair was hurt was a coincidence; the only one to blame for his untimely death is Lord Alastair himself. Unfortunately his injury was too great for the healers to mend. I have their state—"

"Thank you, Captain." The High Lady cuts him off. "I am sure the healers did their best. I assume the Council agrees with me: with access to the memory, there is no room for debate: Dean Winchester is innocent, and thus entitled to compensation for the crime Alastair of Texas committed against him."

Dean forgets to breathe for a few seconds as The High Lady Magda looks at the assembled council members. "As I thought. We will hear our Lord of Justice, then."

Sam gets up. "M'ladies, M'lords, Commander." Sam opens a file. Dean can't stop himself from smiling. His Sam, all grown up and serious. Dean feels pride well up inside him at the sight of his little Sammy, now and quite suddenly a lord in his own right. Cleverly, Sam doesn't look at Dean. Sam looks at the Council, assessing them one by one."As the question about guilt has already been answered, I rule that Commander Dean Winchester is without blame in the matter. I leave the question of compensation to the Lord of Ice. As the new Lord of Justice I have yet much to learn, and I will happily heed Lord Lucifer's advice in the matter."

"Thank you, Lord Winchester. First, are there any comments from Alastair's party?" the High Lady asks.

Across the table Lady Abaddon coughs. "In the light of certain unfortunate events—"

Lord Crowley stands, interrupting her with a glare. "In the light of certain _fortunate_ events, we have a few announcements to make, both in regards to Alastair of Texas, and Commander Winchester. My party has decided to push certain changes in our.... political views that we have sought to apply for some time. For now, The Lady Abaddon and The Lady Ruby will keep the positions they manage so admirably. The future leader of the Conservative Party will be little old me." Lord Crowley's sanctimonious smile says it all. No doubt the ladies have been... volunteered into accepting Lord Crowley's leadership.

"The Council accepts your leadership," the High Lord says, signaling for the High Lady to sit down. "I assume we will see changes in your platform?"

"In the future we will enter and embrace the twenty-second century," Lord Crowley says. "It seems to me that our beloved former leader had a strained relationship with it. In the future we will have order, a streamlined, well-oiled machine. This messy way to run things? So last millennium."

"And these changes," Gabriel says, for the first time participating in the discussion, "will they include the removal of certain inhuman practices as well."

"Oh, color me surprised," Lord Crowley says. "I would _never_ have figured out that that particular issue would be your main concern. But there you go."

Lady Abaddon gets up. There is a cruel smile on her lips. "We have reached a decision." She sends Dean a look that could have killed lesser men. Or aroused them. Dean only feels cold. This does not bode well. Gabriel obviously shares the notion, because his hand is laid calmly to rest over Dean's, hidden under the table. Abaddon stares at them, her arrogant, cruel smile marring her beautiful face. "Lord Crowley and I have discussed the matter. We cannot in good conscience rob the people of their favorite pastime. The Cage must stay."

 _No!_ Dean takes a deep breath. He forces himself to stay entirely emotionless. He can do this, he can. Hidden by the table Gabriel's thumb moves over his hand, warning him to stay calm. The curtains wave briefly pulled and pushed by a sudden icy breeze. Both Gabriel and Lucifer are angry.

"However," Lord Crowley drawls, pulling his robe tight, "we will, in the light of recent events, agree to a change." 

"We do not wish to change the rules as of now," Lady Abaddon says, clearly pleased with herself. "They will come into fruition only _after_ Dean Winchester's time is over. As of August this year."

The revenge for Lord Alastair's death. Dean knows it is. So nothing has changed. Everything got worse, except he doesn't have to look over his shoulder for Lord Alastair. But he is still without rights, still owned. Still in love with a man he cannot have because it would mean giving in to everything Dean has fought for his entire life. High Lord, life sucks so bad that Dean doesn't even care to react. Not to Lady Abaddon, not to Gabriel's concerned squeeze of his hand.

The High Lord gets up from his chair. It is the first time Dean has seen the High Lord look truly angry. "I suppose that this petty idiocy is the price for your cooperation?"

"Got that right in first try. Good for you." Crowley again. "I do intend to enforce order and I will dispose of those who are not interested in running our side of things smoothly," Lord Crowley says. "I suggest that the kingdom in the future provides the Cage with a decent prize for the winner, say... ten million dollars? No more selling of the Seconds. When Winchester's year is over, we are done with such barbaric practices."

"That's Commander Winchester to you, asshole," Dean murmurs so that only Gabriel can hear it. A slight shaking reveals that Gabriel tries not to laugh. Dean doesn't find it funny at all.

The High Lord nods. "Agreed."

Dean feels as if his heart is going to explode. They can't. They can't decide for him, just like that! It is his life!

Lord Crowley is about to say something, but the High Lord stops him with a dismissing wave of his hand.

"I am not done. I agree _if_ ," the High Lord continues, "the Council, the _entire_ council accepts that Commander Dean Winchester is under our protection and that harming him will result in a destiny similar to the one that befell Alastair."

"Lord Alastair," Lady Ruby hisses.

"Alastair. His lands and titles are unfortunately no longer his. By attacking a member of the royal household, his titles are void, and his lands shall return to the throne. The kingdom is no longer in need of a Lord of Torment, don't you agree? The former Lord of Torment shall henceforth be known as Alastair Texas."

"And Texas? What about Texas?" Lady Ruby inquires, halfway out of her chair as if she could grab the piece of land and make it hers. "It is a—"

"Due to Alastair's crimes against the His Royal Highness Prince Gabriel and his companion, according to our law—the law you have sworn to uphold, Lady Ruby—Texas now belongs to the High Lord." Lucifer stands. "And he has given me the right to do with Alastair's lands what I like. Do you refuse the laws that we all have to obey, Lady Ruby? Do you refuse to heed the ruling that the Lord of Justice laid out for you?"

"No, of course not." Lady Ruby sits again. "My apologies, Lord Lucifer."

"So let's discuss Texas," Lord Lucifer says. "Since it is up to me what to do with it. Texas is in sore need of a decent ruler, one who diligently and fairly will help rebuild what Alastair ruined. We need someone who, without bias and cruelty, will restore the land. Someone righteous and strong."

"Hear, hear," Lord Bobby shouts. "A righteous lord." He pats Dean's hand enthusiastically.

"I assume we do need a Lord of Rights after all that has happened," the High Lord says, staring at Dean. "A champion of the people. A righteous man. Someone who knows what it is like to have no power, no agency. Someone who is not afraid to tell us when we fail, and when our ability for empathy and human decency fails."

Oh, _fuck_. They can't mean... No, of course not. Dean looks around, all eyes on him, all attention. He blinks, clutching Gabriel's hand. This wasn't what he'd counted on when he was asked to stand in front of the American Council. All he wanted was to be free. He catches Sam's eyes across the table. Sam nods and smiles, his dimples showing, a clear sign that there is nothing to worry about. Except... except that Dean has no idea what to do. "Dude," he whispers into Gabriel's ear. "What the hell are y'all doing? Some kind of collective insanity? Something in the water?"

Gabriel squeezes Dean's hand back, calming him. He leans forward as if to underline the importance of his opinion. "I agree. I have learned much from my connection with Commander Winchester. He is able. During his time in the Sky Palace, Commander Winchester has been educated in sociology, strategy, economy, and in the history of the Forever-Lords. He has endured his servitude with dignity and patience. He is ready. I can't think of anyone more worthy of the title."

"You can't!" Lady Abaddon stands so fast that her chair tips over and lands on the side with a loud crash. "He is not human! Not for four more months!"

"And neither are you. And you will never be." Gabriel is up, too, glaring at Lady Abaddon. "Do I need remind you that your great-great-great grandfather Azazel once dubbed his horse emperor of Styx? Okay, he was insane, and the horse vastly better suited to rule than old Azzy, but compared to raising Dean to peerage... I don't know. Any further comments, M'lady?"

Lady Abaddon sits down again, a servant quick to place the chair under her butt. "It was a very long time ago. Before we came to Earth."

"And yet it is incredibly amusing to bring it up. I'm sure the press will have a heyday with that little tidbit. I hear it was a very clever horse, though."

"Enough!" The High Lord holds up a hand. "We are not children. Lady Abaddon, do you have any _valid_ objections?"

"No, My Lord."

"Thank you. Lucifer?"

"Then I hereby declare that the state of Texas, the palace known as the Blood Palace, and all accounts related to it are now the property of Commander Winchester, given to him as compensation for the suffering that Alastair Texas brought upon him. If it suits the High Lord and the Council, Commander Winchester shall from this day forward be known as Lord Dean Winchester, Lord of Righteousness, Duke of Texas. To honor our agreement with Lord Crowley's party, the property donned shall be made over to Lord Winchester on the day he is released from servitude. Until then his property and his rights shall be administered by Lord Gabriel or any deputy he chooses for the task."

"And Lord Gabriel chooses someone truly competent," Gabriel interrupts. "I choose Lord Winchester himself as deputy."

"You cannot!" Lady Abaddon cries. "It's against the rules!"

"Checkmate." Gabriel smirks. "You dragged us to the board, now play."

Lord Crowley starts clapping, slowly. He laughs. "Beautiful move. Well done. A few unexpected moves, but I accept that in lieu of the interesting result. Very well played, boys." He waves at a servant to move his chair as he gets up. "Let me be the first to welcome a new lord in our midst; I think we've had chaos and bloodshed enough for some time." He bows in Dean's direction. "Lord Dean."

Dean doesn't react immediately. Sam waves at him. "Dean!"

"Yeah. Fine." It's too surreal for Dean to understand. Evidently he didn't waste his time, studying so hard. He could start acting as if he'd actually opened a book as not to make Gabriel look like an idiot. "Thank you, Lord Crowley. High Lord, Lord Lucifer." Dean attempts to kick-start his brain. He doesn't want to make a total fool of himself. "I'll do my best to... to serve the citizens of America and the people of Texas. And erm—" Soldiers. He needs a guard. There is no guarantee what Alastair's allies will do, nor does Dean what to do with a castle he has never seen. "High Lord, if I may?"

Lord Chuck nods. "Anything."

"If Captain Inias is willing... I'd like him as my Commander at the Blood Pa— No. It needs another name," Dean decides. There has been blood enough, he agrees with Lord Crowley on that. "At my palace." _At my palace_ , Dean repeats in his mind, still unable to truly understand what happened. "I suppose we need to interfere immediately, before Alastair's friends think they can run the place. There might be prisoners who are in need of immediate help as well."

"I am willing!" Captain Inias steps forward. "If the High Lord allows.Thank you, My Lord Winchester."

"Yeah, sweet. That'll be _Dean_ to you. How many soldiers do we need, Commander?" Dean goes into action mode immediately; it's safe territory. "As I recall from what I read, Alastair kept a small army for his own protection.

"A full garrison."

"Take the southern Centuria. No. Take the First Cohort," the High Lord says. "Eight hundred men should be enough. Alastair's soldiers aren't very attached to him, they probably like being attached to their heads, so you probably won't meet too much resistance. My Centuria will stay as Lord Winchester's guard until he has time to pick his own men."

Dean recalls the intelligence reports. There sure is no love lost between Alastair and basically any living being in the lands that he has ruled. "Better safe than sorry. Thank you for your advice, My Lord, and for the use of your army."

"Just don't steal more of my best officers." Lord Chuck tries to look angry, and fails. "It was time for Captain Inias to move up in the ranks anyway. He'd have been a centurion in the First Cohort next. But Commander suits him well too. With that in order, I think we are done?"

The High Lady Magda nods. "We're done. Lord Crowley?"

Cleverly, Lord Crowley abstains. Power balances have been pushed and shifted and altered enough, even for opportunistic bastards. 

Dean remembers that he actually has been taught manners, albeit not in a way that the Council might approve of. He needs a moment of peace and quiet to let the events settle, to catch up with his sudden rise to power, and he is almost willing to kill to get it. "If you'll allow me to withdraw, My Lords, My Ladies."

The High Lord nods his acceptance and Dean is out the door before anyone can react. He strides down the wide corridor searching for a quiet place. He finds a small disused office, a light smattering of dust over the empty desk in the middle, and flops down in the chair next to it. 

The world certainly is full of surprises. 

He should be grateful, and he is, almost. The High Lord and Lady have been kind and gracious, he has found a new friend and ally in _Commander_ Inias. He will never again have to worry about food or money or whether he has forks enough for his guests. He has power, true power. He is in love with a man who, in turn, is in love with him. He is rich, healthy, handsome. 

And almost free. If freedom had degrees. _Free. Freer. Freest. Most free, perhaps?_ No. It doesn't work that way.

He has everything now, everything he fought to get, and more. 

Except for his freedom.

And the damned torc still doesn't come off.


	11. Tameless and Swift and Proud

"Tear it down," Dean says, staring at the pile of shit that belonged to Alastair. "All of it. Not a stone left. Burn everything, except what might be useful when it comes to compensating those he tortured."

Lady Rachel, a Forever-Lord turned engineer, makes notes, nodding as she scribbles something on her Reader. "Do you wish to use the same lot for your new palace, Lord Dean?"

The entire concept makes Dean boggle and it takes a few seconds before he gets over the formal address and the fact that he has the power and the fortune to do what the hell he likes with an entire fucking state. "I don't want any palace. I want..." Dean turns the idea in his head. Yeah, that's how it's gonna be. "I want a mansion. Like a Roman villa, you know, with an atrium and shit... just bigger. A main house. And I want a hospital on the grounds, a wing for guests, smaller houses for employees. A square. With a market. I want to make it so that anyone who comes here to ask for help can have it, whether it's because they are ill or poor or had their life ruined by Alastair. I want people to be able to buy cheap food, good food. Clothes. Everything they need." Dean doesn't want any of his citizens.... High Lord, his _citizens_ to live in poverty. Nobody should want for anything.

"You need a bigger piece of land." Gabriel shakes his head. "It's both better and worse than I thought."

Even with the intelligence reports and the High Lord's accounts of what had been going on in Texas, the condition of the Blood Palace and its servants is beyond believable. Bringing an army to Texas had been overkill; there had been a few of Alastair's overseers who had protested weakly, but that had been all. There had been no resistance whatsoever, no wonder, when the household realized that _ding-dong, the sadistic bastard was dead_.

"I can't believe we allowed him to go this far," Inias says, clearly still shaken by the things he has seen inside, and in the memories he has been peeking into to make sure servants and employees had a proper security clearance. "Can't you turn it into a park, Dean? A place where beautiful memories are created to counteract what happened here?"

"A park. Good thinking. I think... a giant greenhouse for the general public.A botanical garden with medical plants and such."

It had been a stroke of brilliance to steal Inias away from the High Lord. Dean is sure that Texas is in good hands while he returns to the Sky Palace to endure the last four months of his time with Gabriel. Not a chore as such. On the contrary. Now that their feelings are out in the open, Dean cannot wait to get back, to have a taste of what real love looks like. Before it is too late. He might be in love, but he's not going to stay. He cannot. His self-respect won't allow it, and besides, there is Texas.

He has responsibilities to his citizens. Dean suspects it is going to take a very long time before he gets used to having citizens, if ever.

He leaves the calculations and plans for the new palace in the capable hands of Lady Rachel. It isn't as if the state's finances are bad, on the contrary, Lady Rachel won't have to limit herself. Alastair has hoarded gold like a dragon, extorted and abused the people of Texas to get his clammy hands on their meager savings. No, money is not a problem, and Dean is dead set on seeing the millions of dollars going back to those who provided them in the first place. The new palace is going to be a place for the people, a place of solace and peace.

Dean knows it's the right thing to do, and clearly he's not alone, because every time he decides in favor of the people, Gabriel looks at him with a mix of adoration and love. And maybe a little bit like a proud parent of a kid that is taking the few first steps. Dean doesn't mind. After all it is Gabriel who urged him to study and learn, enough for Dean not to feel entirely lost when it comes to restoring the state to its former glory. Maybe Gabriel is sort of... humanitarian. Obviously he's siding with the people, and it makes Dean strangely happy.

*

Inias commands soldiers, led by one of his younger brothers, to guard the palace and to help its inhabitants, making sure they have safe places to stay during the summer storms. Dean decides that Inias is well suited as the administrator of his Texas household, and gives him free reins to do with it what he likes. As righteous men come, Inias is one of them, entirely incorruptible and entirely honest. Nobody has anything negative to say about Commander Inias and Dean's gut feeling tells him that he has chosen the right man for the job. Yeah, Texas is in good hands; Inias is way more suited to lead the people than Dean is, Dean is pretty sure of that. Inias does not make mistakes.

It takes a few days before all arrangements are done, the new Freedom Palace already in the making, thanks to Lady Rachel's impressive powers. She rules stone and wood like Gabriel rules the wind, and the deconstruction of the Blood Palace is progressing fast, almost as fast as the construction of the new and improved Freedom Palace. Most of Alastair's former servants are rehomed in proper houses, far better than the hovels that Alastair had assigned them. 

Acquainting himself with Texas is by no means pleasant, except for the nights. The days are exhausting and hot, and dealing with the mess that Alastair left is not precisely Dean's idea of a good time. The guy was a sadistic tyrant who treated the Texans like his personal property. Gabriel's damned hounds have more luxurious lives and more freedom than Alastair's citizens. Every day Dean has to wade through this mess of suppressed, malnourished, impoverished men and women, and he does what he can to help. He sends workers to help repair houses. He buys furniture for the homes for the elderly, and Readers for the schools; despite the High Lord's decree, Alastair has found it unnecessary to teach the citizens of Texas to read. Dean hires teachers, three hundred new teachers from all over America, and Lady Ellen sends her daughter The Lady Joanna to manage them. It's a constant, depressing stream of stuff that needs mending and people who needs saving and Dean does what he can. With Gabriel and Inias helping him, he does make progress, one tiny step every day. Dean still thinks that Lord Lucifer might have made a mistake, handing Texas over to him. Yeah, the days sure aren't anything to boast about, but the nights... 

The nights are wonderful. Dean is in love, and Gabriel is delightfully appalled with _their_ accommodation, not that it keeps them from enjoying each others' pleasant and very naked company as soon as they are alone. Dean has seen enough cheap motels to last a Forever-Lord's lifetime, and it is so familiar, staying in one of the run-down, smelly rooms that Dean refuses to return to the Sky Palace with Gabriel before he is done with his small Texan revolution. 

"Did you know that a cockroach is able to survive on a sparse diet such as wall paper glue?" Gabriel studies the roach that perches on his finger. "Which explains the state of this place." He sends Dean a pair of puppy-eyes that could melt even the most hardened misanthropist. "Can we go home today? Please? If I find a bug in my bed again, I am going to sleep outside."

Dean decides to be gracious. It's not like there is much more he can do right now; Inias, Lady Rachel, Lady Joanna, and Mills, the new chief of police, are all set and doing their jobs marvelously. "I guess. I'm done anyway; I guess things are as much in order as they can be. We'll go back, but we need to return next week." Dean grins. "I'm sure Inias can do without me, hovering over him, for some time."

The hug that Gabriel gives him makes Dean groan, but he isn't complaining about the kiss. 

The cockroach, however, doesn't make it.

*

Time is relative. Somehow time should stand still, not move at all, because Dean's wish to be free is pulling at it from one side, his need to be with Gabriel from the other. Maybe time should stretch instead, what with all the pulling. Instead it flees, the seconds fly by, the minutes race each other and the days become a blur of work and planning and more education and studying. The nights are too short. Oh, they are too short.

Time should allow for Dean to spend eons in Gabriel's arms, but time is a frigging bitch and runs even faster, eating hungrily of Dean's happiness.

He is happy. High Lord, he is happy. He had never thought that he was able to feel like this, to wake up in the morning and look at the day with joy and anticipation. He does, and he owes it all to the man that lies next to him, hair in a disarray and a quirky smile gracing his lips in his sleep. Dean is sure that Gabriel is able to come up with outrageous ideas and ridiculous pranks, even in his sleep. 

They don't talk about it much, the end. August is near. Dean spends time in Texas, finally mastering going through the void. At least he can travel now, alone or with Samandriel in tow. Gabriel has considered taking another squire, letting Samandriel go with Dean. Dean is fine with that. In Texas Inias rules the new palace grounds to perfection. The Freedom Palace is progressing, and Dean shouldn't worry. 

Of course he does. How can he not? As usual, his countermeasure to emotional distress is avoidance. This one, Gabriel cannot help him with. So Dean wraps himself into an armor of routine and work and traveling, some hot nights with Gabriel added, exhausting them both so that they are too tired to talk, properly talk. They can do that later, or tomorrow or next week. Or not at all.

'Not at all' suits Dean fine.

And just like that, August is over and there is no more time.

There is no more time left.

The only thing left is their goodbye.

*

Dean wants their last night together to be perfect. He has discussed the dinner with Samandriel, wanting Gabriel to have everything he likes: grapes from Greenland, wild strawberries from Siberia, boar roast with sweet potatoes and fine, fresh spinach leaves. Wine, of course, and blueberry sorbet, a rare delicacy that requires Lord Lucifer's brief cooperation, getting it exactly right. Dean gets himself ready while Samandriel sees to the preparations in kitchen, probably driving the cook and the maids insane. He, too, knows that this night means something to Dean, and he doesn't complain, just goes to effectuate Dean's orders.

Showering and shaving, Dean prepares himself. Thinking of what Gabriel will do to him, which delightful and perverted pleasures he has in store for his dedicated servant, Dean prepares so that he is ready if Gabriel wants to take him right away. Loose and slick, relaxed enough not to be harmed, Dean dries himself off, wrapping a soft towel around his waist. He's hard from the feeling of his own fingers. He smells faintly of the mix of desert roses and spices that Gabriel prefers.

Dean walks across the living room to open the box where Gabriel keeps his jewelry. Dean discards the first choice and rummages around in the box, finally choosing a piece. Looking at himself in the mirror, Dean attaches the platinum chain to his piercings; tight around his balls, loose around his cock, arranging it artfully. In their bedroom his body servant is ready for him. A few artfully decorated, yet simple tunics have been laid out for him to choose from. Dean picks one; it's new and tailored to Dean's taste. 

He slips on the loose tunic; nothing but a flimsy piece of silk that is merely a thin shimmer. As Dean is technically not naked, he could just as well have been; the fabric is, apart from the beautiful embroideries, transparent and enhances more than it hides. He is not ashamed that he likes to show off. Gabriel likes it.

Dean grins into the mirror. Yeah, damn, he's ready to drive Gabriel mad with lust. "Thanks. I don't need help." Dean smiles at the servant. "Please tell Samandriel that he may serve the food." The servant scuttle away to do as he is told. Dean takes one last look at himself. He slides a finger over the torc. Tomorrow... Tomorrow it is _over_ and he will never have to wear that cursed thing again. Until then? Until then, Dean is going to forget that his time with Gabriel is running out and the hour for freedom is rapidly approaching.

At the first sound of the palace's hour bell, Gabriel arrives, thankfully through the door. Dean is kneeling, head held high, hands on his back. Dean takes a deep breath and sinks into the quiet space where nothing but his master's pleasure matters. Respectfully he nods, not looking directly at Lord Gabriel. 

"Welcome home, master. I have longed for you. How may I serve you?" Dean says softly. He likes the formality. It sets the mood, lets Dean take the first step toward his full submission. He looks down at the floor. He waits until Lord Gabriel stands in front of him before he unclasps his hands, leaning forward, pressing his lips to his master's boot. "Please allow me to give myself to you, My Lord," Dean pleads. "There is no greater joy than seeing you content and pleased."

Lord Gabriel chuckles. "Such a beautiful sight." He pauses, teasing Dean with his silence. "Mouth."

Dean looks up, ready. Gabriel pulls up his short silk tunic and frees his cock from his underwear. Dean places his hands where they are supposed to be—on his back—and offers his open mouth to his master. Surprisingly Gabriel bends down, pressing a sloppy kiss to Dean's lips before he straightens up, unceremoniously thrusting his cock deep into Dean's throat. Dean is prepared, but the intrusion still makes him choke, and he fights to relax enough to accommodate Lord Gabriel's long cock, swallowing him down to the hilt. 

"Good, so good," Lord Gabriel praises, groaning as Dean starts licking and sucking. Lord Gabriel is horny, and Dean likes it when Lord Gabriel gets all possessive and demanding. Dean is in for a long night. Maybe he'll be tied up until it suits Lord Gabriel to play with him. With the hard dick in his mouth, Dean concentrates on the pressure in his throat, on the soft skin sliding over his lips, on the taste of semen and salt. He loves sucking Lord Gabriel's cock, loves when Lord Gabriel fucks his face, showing him that he owns him. Dean's cock throbs in its restraints, and Dean moans loudly, letting his aroused groans vibrate around his master's dick. 

"Stop!" The order is a whiplash, and Dean gasps, pulling back to obey. "Look up. Hold still."

He turns his face up the moment that Lord Gabriel comes, semen spilling into Dean's mouth, over his lips and neck, staining the precious fabric. "Fuck, yeah, so hot," Lord Gabriel rasps, milking out the last of his come before he thrusts his cock into Dean's mouth so he can lick it clean. Lord Gabriel hisses as Dean slides his tongue around his dick. "Enough."

Lord Gabriel pulls out, not looking at Dean at all. Dean knows his lover well enough to know that Gabriel _will_ look because he cannot resist the sight of Dean, marked with Lord Gabriel's semen, jizz dripping from his face. 

"Samandriel," Lord Gabriel shouts, knowing that Samandriel is just outside the doors to their chambers. "Bring me water to clean my pet, then you may serve the food." 

A year ago, Dean would have found it extremely embarrassing that Samandriel would see him like this, deeply emerged in submission, on his knees for the man he loves. Now he doesn't care. He cares about his master, his master's pleasure, and that's all. Samandriel has learned, too, because ignores Dean as he hands Lord Gabriel a bowl with a warm, damp cloth. Dean doesn't thank Samandriel. It is not his business. He wants to stay inside the confines of his pleasure, and they don't include communication with anyone but his lord.

Seated at the table, Lord Gabriel is served the delicious dishes that Dean ordered. The smell is mouthwatering, but it is none of Dean's concern, either. He stays like Lord Gabriel left him, in the proper position, waiting for Lord Gabriel's orders. 

"At my side. Crawl." Lord Gabriel leans back, wine goblet in one hand. Oh, he expects a show, and Dean is giving him exactly what he wants. Slowly, like a cat, swaying his hips, Dean crawls to Lord Gabriel, kneeling again, perfect posture, as his master watches him. "I am going to fuck you so hard later," Lord Gabriel says. "I'm going to make you scream until your throat is raw. Would you like that, baby?"

"Yes please, My Lord."

"Eat. You need your strength." Lord Gabriel offers Dean a piece of juicy meat, tender and delicious, the best part of the roast. Dean eats. Lord Gabriel offers him more, a bit of everything until Dean lets him know with a look that he doesn't need more food. 

Lord Gabriel drinks a bit more wine, waiting until Samandriel offers him a bowl so that he can clean his hands. He wipes Dean's mouth, too, again leaning in to kiss him, gently. 

While Samandriel serves the sorbets, Lord Gabriel plays with Dean's nipples, pulling the piercings and the silver chain until Dean can't sit still. Dean wants to beg Lord Gabriel to stop, but he can't. He wants this night to be perfect, something for Gabriel to remember. Dean wants Lord Gabriel to remember how perfect they are for each other. 

As always Lord Gabriel senses when Dean has had enough. There is another pull, harder, before he let go, brushing his fingers gently over Dean's hard, sore nipples. "Perfect," Lord Gabriel whispers, caressing Dean's chest before he tilts his head upwards, rewarding him with a deep kiss. "Go lie on the bed. You may walk. I'm going to tie you up. I want your hands over your head, your legs spread wide for me."

"Thank you, My Lord." Dean kisses Gabriel's hand in gratitude; it arouses him so much when his master is all cold and tender at the same time, ordering him around, yet still he leaves him those little islands of tenderness to stand on. It makes him able to endure everything that is done to him.

Getting into bed, the cool evening air making it comfortable lying naked on the heavy silk sheets, Dean relaxes. One limb after another Dean makes his body become pliant and ready. He is nothing but pleasure for his lord. He is Lord Gabriel's to play with as he likes. He is his lord's ecstasy. He is his lord's willing servant. He belongs to Lord Gabriel and nothing else matters. 

Samandriel returns, lighting scented candles, leaving wine and spring water for them at the bedside. 

Finally Lord Gabriel decides that he wants pleasure from Dean. 

In one hand he carries heavy leather straps, and Dean gasps. It will be hours of teasing, of pushing his body to the limits, and Dean wants it so badly because he knows how much Lord Gabriel will enjoy it. Gentle hands strap the harness around Dean's body. Cuffs around his wrists and ankles, broad straps around his shoulders and wrists. With the wave of hand, Gabriel attaches the chains to the ceiling, tightening them so that Dean hovers over the bed, suspended. The straps are enough to support him through the hours of delicious teasing that Gabriel will submit him to, but they are not enough to make it truly comfortable. Dean will be very, very sore before they are done. 

Pouring himself a glass of wine, Lord Gabriel starts the torture. Writhing under the teasing touch of feathers, and under the cruel little pulls of the platinum chain around his cock, Dean dives into the constant but shifting stream of sensations. Some are cold, like the marble rod that Lord Gabriel slides into Dean's ass, driving him into begging for pause, thrusting it into him over and over, rubbing his prostate with every thrust. Some are hot, like the brutal kisses that Lord Gabriel takes from him, forcing his mouth open with fingers and at some point a ring gag that allows Gabriel to lick into Dean's mouth so deliciously that Dean thinks he could come from his master's kisses alone. Some are butterfly wings, fingertips dancing tip-toed across his skin. Others again are pleasure-pain, little tugs and twists and bites. Some are cruel, like the wand, the one Master Ion made for them. It is like orgasms over and over, when Lord Gabriel teases Dean's dick with the rod. He makes Dean beg for it to stop. It is too good, too overwhelming.

Of course Lord Gabriel doesn't listen. He knows what Dean needs.

Lord Gabriel uses time to ensure that Dean's chest and neck are marked with love-bites, from pale pink to angry red, almost breaking through skin. Caught in Lord Gabriel's power, refused any choice, Dean surrenders entirely, time and space flowing into a stream of white-hot pleasure, Dean's body and mind pushed to the limit for what he can take, and still he wants to give his beloved Lord Gabriel more.

In a state where he can no longer speak, only let out unintelligible little whimpers and cries as his body, suspended in leather and love, Dean has finally reached the breaking point. 

Then Lord Gabriel caresses him, kissing him oh, so tenderly. "My Lord?" Dean feels so heavy, his limbs and his tongue are reluctant to cooperate. He wants to stay in this dizzy state, in the silence where everything so calm and quiet. But he is hungry for his lover's kiss and it makes him gather what little he has left, hungrily raising his head to keep kissing Lord Gabriel as he pulls back.

Lord Gabriel strokes Dean's cheek, with a thumb wiping away the remains of tears. He takes a cup and offers Dean water. Dean gulps it down, cool spring water that eases the remains of the cries that are still stuck in his throat. "Thank you, My Lord," Dean croaks, grateful for his lord's careful attention.

"What do you want, Dean?" Lord Gabriel asks, voice low and silken. 

It takes a little before Dean can answer. "Whatever pleases you, My Lord."

"Don't. Or I will punish you." 

Lord Gabriel doesn't look angry, but Dean can see the seriousness in his master's golden eyes. He will sleep on the floor tonight; it doesn't matter that it's their last night, not at this point, because his Lord Gabriel knows as well as Dean does that Dean's purpose is to obey his master, and to receive praise or punishment for it, depending on whether Lord Gabriel is satisfied with him or not. Sentimentality does not changes that fact. 

Finally Dean finds the words for what he needs most. "If it pleases you, My Lord, I would like to be fucked. Please." 

Lord Gabriel doesn't reply, not in words. Carefully he releases the restraints, lowering Dean onto the bed, stroking his hands and feet, rubbing the red marks where the cuffs have been. Dean closes his fingers around Lord Gabriel's hand, intertwining their fingers while Lord Gabriel ensures that Dean is comfortable. Dean loves his reward. Lord Gabriel's tenderness always gets to him; it gives him the power to endure more, longer. And it gets to Dean's heart too, knowing that his master will never be cruel to him, that he will always give him what he needs.

Dean lets out a sigh, squeezing Lord Gabriel's hand. He is ready for to be taken.

"Thank you, Dean."

It's all Dean gets before Lord Gabriel's hands are on him. He gasps, once, twice as Gabriel tears open the thin platinum chain that is wrapped around his cock and balls. Then Dean is turned over, pushed down into the pillows, hard. Lord Gabriel's is not gentle, either, when he pushes Dean's legs apart brutally. There's a finger in his hole. It's loose and wet and the finger is all the preparation Dean gets before he's impaled on Lord Gabriel's cock.

Dean writhes in pleasure and surprise as Lord Gabriel fucks into him, cruelly relentless, hands curled around Dean's hips, pulling him down on his cock over and over, ramming into him so hard that Dean cries out. It's almost too much, too close to his limit, and still it's so perfect. Dean is Lord Gabriel's to use however he sees fit. Lying flat on his stomach, Lord Gabriel fucking into him, Dean is brought from 'tired' to 'almost there' in less than a minute. 

"My Lord," is all he can manage, gasping out the words, making them sound like caresses. 

And Lord Gabriel fucks him harder than he ever has before. With his face pressed into the pillows so deep he cannot breathe, Dean just lies there and takes it, every fucking wonderful thrust after the other. For the first time Lord Gabriel lets him feel the true power of the Forever-Lord he is, almost ripping him apart with moans and touches and whispered filth, smoothed velvet soft by a choked, "I love you," when Lord Gabriel finally comes so hard that the pillows are thrown around in their chambers, a microscopic tornado whirling them around together with a heavy vase that crashes against the wall, blending the scent of roses with the smell of semen and fresh sweat. "Come," Lord Gabriel orders, hoarse, and fucks into Dean one last time, knowing that Dean is so close that he cannot do anything but do what his master demands. And Lord Gabriel pushes him over the edge with another deep, violent trust, with another "I love you, Dean," as he let go of the last tattered remains of control. 

"My Lord," Dean pants again and again, as his orgasm thunders through his abused body, the love bites aching and pulsing with the tremors of pleasure. On his stomach, with Lord Gabriel's cock deep in him, Dean's voice is raw with emotion. God, he loves his master and lord so intensely. But his lips involuntarily close themselves around the confession, and Dean comes untouched and silent, his semen landing in large splashes on the pale blue silk that Lord Gabriel found it proper to fuck him on. 

Without a word, Lord Gabriel pulls out the stained sheets from under them, carefully pulling out of Dean, too. Spent and unable to move, waiting for Lord Gabriel's orders, Dean is helped on his back, gently, tenderly. "I'll never get enough of you," Lord Gabriel murmurs. "Stay with me, Dean. Please don't leave me. Stay?"

Dean doesn't reply, _I can't_. There are so many things he'd like to say. _Let me go. Release me. Now, before you have no say in it. Let me go willingly. I love you. I hate you. I regret I ever laid eyes on you. I will never regret giving in to you. I cannot live without you._ But he keeps it in, because it is already too late. He erases his worries from his mind, latching on to the last echo of the intense, perfect pleasure his lord gave him. Wrapped up in Gabriel's arms, Dean basks in the perfection of the moment. "I love you," he finally says, because it's the truth. It is not a promise.

Maybe Gabriel knows. He doesn't ask again, and the light in his eyes is not as clear. 

Gabriel kisses Dean into sleep, long lazy, wet kisses, that keeps him a little breathless until he's so exhausted that he slips into a dream, the sensation of Gabriel's lips lingering on his mouth.

*

The sun sets in a fireworks of colors. Fall is approaching, but the late summer morning paints the desert in clear rose and orange colors, the rocks and the sand afire with light. Dean stands at the window, watching the sun rise on the bright morning sky. He has one hand wrapped around the torc, waiting for the moment when the early sun's first beams touch it. Gabriel is sound asleep, tangled up in sheets. Dean can still feel their lovemaking on his body, littered as it is with Gabriel's marks spread all over it. It is as if Gabriel wanted to make sure that Dean wouldn't forget who he belongs to. Not a chance. Dean will never forget, and he will never stop being Gabriel's. He is so in love with that stupid, stubborn idiot that he is almost willing to act similarly stupid and give in to him.

But Dean has his pride. He is Gabriel's, but he is not Gabriel's to take just because Dean fell in love with him, despite everything.

The morning breeze is cool and playful, playing catch with the light curtains. Dean leans against the thick stone wall, refusing to look at Gabriel again. He waits. As the final seconds of nature's show-off pass, the sun's long-fingered lingering finally reaches into their chambers. The torc falls apart in Dean's hand, two hinged pieces of steel-gray metal. He holds on to it, unsure of what to do with it. Then he twists the hinge, pulling the two half-moon-shaped pieces apart, and thrusts them into his back pocket. 

He is free to go. His year of enslavement is over. No matter how pleasant, no matter how much freedom won, no matter how much he loves Gabriel, there is only one thing he can do. 

Dean steps away from the window, looking at his sleeping master. His lover. It hurts, it hurts so much. Dean forces down the tears. Heaven, he loves Gabriel so! He looks one final time at the man he has come to love so intensely, reaching out to stroke his cheek. In his sleep Gabriel is so beautiful, the hair in a mess and the thin, arrogant mouth curled upwards as if Gabriel is dreaming of mischief and menace. "Goodbye, beloved," Dean whispers and turns around, leaving the Sky Palace for the last time, free.

Free.

* 

Gabriel enters the box. He sighs. His mood is condensed sadness, clouds of thunder and heavy rain. He didn't _know_ that love could be feel so bad. He doesn't understand how humans can endure it, and he wishes that he'd listened to Bobby occasionally, instead of letting himself be devoured so entirely by that useless feeling. But he can't help it. He loves Dean, and Gabriel suspects that he will never stop. He'll have an eternity of torment, thinking of Dean's eyes, of his laughter, of his grumpiness before coffee, of his smile in the evening. It's all very deep, but the ache in his heart, the empty place next to him where Dean should have been sitting? It's unbearable.

Servants help Gabriel to his chair, and he sits down on soft cushions, cool silk. The whisper of the smooth fabric over his skin reminds him of his last night with Dean, reminds him of Dean's warm skin, of his gentle breath, brushing over Gabriel's neck. Kisses. Lips. Dean's beautiful eyes. The expression of wonder when Gabriel took him to the height of pleasure. 

The sigh Gabriel lets out is heavy with homeless love. He didn't think he could feel so deeply for anyone. Perhaps for Lucifer and Castiel, but they are his brothers, frustrating (like Dean) and headstrong (like Dean) and brilliant (like Dean). Annoyed, Gabriel waves a servant close, ordering a goblet of wine. If Dean had been here, he'd have seen to it and Gabriel misses that too, that Dean took care of his every need. 

Except for that one great one need, the one that overshadows everything else. The one Dean did not want to fulfill. Dean is gone. Gabriel should forget about him. He might not understand humans, but he understands freedom. He understands that Dean needed to be free. 

The servants scuttle around like confused insects when Lucifer and Castiel arrive. They both have the decency not to say anything when they realize that that Gabriel is alone. 

It turns out that Lucifer knows. "Sam says that Dean returned home this morning. He was not in a good mood."

"Sam says, Sam says." Gabriel sneers. "Yes, please, taunt me with your Winchester."

"I am not taunting you. I assumed that you wanted to know." 

"Free will," Castiel interjects, almost setting Gabriel off in a rage. "Maybe Dean appreciates it too."

"And I _appreciate_ your support," Gabriel says instead, sighing as the door to the box is opened once more and Sam Winchester steps in. "Oh, please."

"Good to see you too, Gabriel." Sam almost bows, before he lets Lucifer kiss him. He takes the seat next to Lucifer, ignoring Gabriel's angry expression. 

Gabriel sips his wine, trying to enjoy the taste of cinnamon and sweet raisins. "Dean?" he finally asks, looking at Sam's profile. 

Sam doesn't turn. "He needed to be free. To make decisions as a free man." 

Gabriel doesn't know what Sam means and he cannot be bothered to find out. He turns, looking into the Cage, waiting for the final to start. Meg Masters paces, her small shape bouncy and energetic. Gabriel can't be bothered to whip up any enthusiasm about the fight. He has never been too enthusiastic about them, and now that the prize money is paid by the kingdom, Lucifer and he do no longer have to watch. But Gabriel has double standards. He knows that if Dean stood in the Cage once more, Gabriel wouldn't let him go. He'd buy him again, at all costs, even if it would cost him his last dollar. But there is no Dean, no auction that they have to watch, no Alastair to watch out for, And the upcoming fight between the some woman, Randa Moreno, and a guy called Brady-something-or-other... it doesn't interest him at all. 

Gabriel takes another sip of his wine, again wishing that Dean was here.

At the bottom of the large arena Meg Masters steps up, together with Lord Robert. The cameras are on, the gigantic screen showing her face up close. 

"Beloved audience, viewers all over the world!" Meg flirts with the camera, making everybody forget that she's one of the meanest fighters ever to step into the Cage. "Before we start, I give you—" She pauses, turning, smirking. "You all know and love him. Free of a year of servitude as of this morning, and back in the Cage for your entertainment: Dean Winchester, Lord of Righteousness, Duke of Texas!"

"No!" Gabriel stands, forgetting his cup, wine and the golden cup hitting the floor. "Why?" He schools his expression as one of the floating cameras passes the box, catching his reaction. Dean cannot fight. He's not ready! Clutching at the edge of the balcony, Gabriel stares at the ring below.

The crowd stands, cheering and shouting as Dean steps up, just as strong and beautiful as the day Gabriel took him home. Dean flashes his perfect smile, and Gabriel's heart skips a few beats, longing and sadness teaming up to make him breathless. High Lord, he wants his lover back. But he was played a fool by love, if not by Dean. Still, there is nothing Gabriel wouldn't do to have Dean next to him. 

Lucifer might have read his mind. "How could he be your lover when he wasn't free, Gabriel? He wasn't free to love."

Gabriel closes his eyes to the pain. Lucifer is right, so incredibly right. Gabriel bites back the snappy comeback. Instead he turns around, studying Sam and Lucifer. They are so close, so in love. Gabriel connects the dots. "I should have bought him and set him free on the same day. Protected him and elevated him to a status that made him untouchable right away. And I should have courted him until he gave in. I should have started a revolution for him, fought a war." 

It earns Gabriel an appreciative look from Sam. "One year, and you only figured that out now? Dean is right. You're so incredibly _dim_." Lucifer shrugs, clearly in agreement with Sam. "I wonder why he fell in love with you in the first place, poor guy."

Outside the noise from the standing ovation that Dean is given dies down. Gabriel's full attention is on Dean. It might be the last time he sees him outside the Council meetings, and Gabriel wants to remember it, branding into his memory Dean's beautiful, proud face, his spirit, his heart.

"Thank you," Dean finally says. "I suppose y'all wonder why I'm here."

A few shattered, "Yes!" and "Tell us!" underline the peculiarity of Dean's appearance in the Cage.

"I am done fighting. I am done serving a master that I did not ask for. I lost my final fight, and I paid my dues. Today I am free, free to do as I like, free to serve who and when I like." Dean looks up, directly at Gabriel's box. 

Beside Gabriel, Sam laughs, as if he knows something, laughs with Lucifer, as if they share a secret. Gabriel desperately wants to punch them both. But he is caught in the line of fire, in the way Dean looks at him. It's the same furnace of emotions and need that was directed at Gabriel this night. Before Dean left. Oh, damn. He is so screwed.

Dean points at the box. "Up there sits Gabriel, the Lord of Tempests, in whose care I've been for a full year. I was his to do with as he pleased, and let's just say that it _did_ please him. He was good to me, I could never have asked for a better owner. But I was his, I had no will of my own, and I did not have the freedom of choice, although he gave me as much freedom as he could." 

Dean reaches into his pocket and throws what he finds there on the dirt floor. It lands with a soft thump. Dean looks at it with contempt.

It's the torc, the symbol of his servitude. 

"I will never wear this again. Because I was little more than a slave, and because this... _thing_ reminds me of every second I lived and breathed that did not allow me to say what I am about to say." Dean's proud and serious visage softens. "Gabriel, get down here."

The crowd gasps at the disrespectful way of address. _Nobody_ speaks to a Forever-Lord like that. Nobody commands a Forever-Lord.

Gabriel gasps too, but not because of the way Dean speaks. "What—" he begins, looking at Sam. 

"Go!"

There is no going. It's too slow. Instead, Gabriel steps into the void and appears out of thin air in front of Dean. The audience falls silent. One can hear a needle drop. Gabriel takes a step forward. "Dean." Cameras zoom in, and Gabriel doesn't care. All he sees is Dean, his beloved Dean. His pet, his slave, his lover, his master. The love of his life. "Yes?"

"I will never wear a torc again," Dean states firmly. "I will never not be free." Slowly he unbuttons his shirt, pulling it a bit to the side. 

Gabriel frowns. He doesn't understand. He stares at Dean's chest. It is red and a little irritated, but there is no way he is interpreting this wrong. There is no way he isn't seeing what he's seeing. Across the heart is a beautifully drawn 'G', tattooed into Dean's freckled skin. It is blown up in size on the giant screen above them when the cameras broadcast it to the world.

"And I will never not be yours," Dean says quietly. "And I am. I am yours if you want me. I love you. And now I am free to ask you the question I want to ask you."

"Question?" Gabriel is dizzy for a few seconds. "Ask," Gabriel whispers, shivering. Joy, pure joy. That's all. "No, wait!" Gabriel holds up a hand. "I have something to ask first. Patience."

Dean raises an eyebrow in a way that would have earned him hours of pleasurable punishment a day ago. It makes Gabriel laugh. Oh, when he takes Dean home, they are going to have so much fun. Turning to look at the High Lord's box, Gabriel makes a reverent bow. "High Lord, I have a request!"

High Lord Chuck stands, looking from The High Lady Magda to Gabriel and back again. "Yes, son?"

"High Lord, I wish to marry! Allow me to take Lord Dean Winchester as my husband, as my prince consort, if he so pleases. I cannot in good conscience accept the love he offers me if I have nothing to give back in return."

"I would think _love_ should do it," Lucifer shouts. "You should try it once."

Gabriel laughs. "But I cannot give for a second time what I have offered Dean already. I love him and I want him to become my husband."

The High Lord nods. "I will allow it. Lord Dean Winchester is no longer a servant, but a free man. If he wants to bind himself to you, I'll allow it. I was pleased with him becoming our Lord of Righteousness, but _Prince_ Dean, will go well with that title. Not a wise decision on Lord Dean's part, but you need someone who have the patience and courage to tolerate your many flaws."

Turning to Dean again, Gabriel takes his hand. "I will love and cherish you for eternity. If that's a flaw, so be it." 

Dean puts a hand over his heart, on the spot where Gabriel's mark is tattooed into his skin. "I'm yours already."

Gabriel's happiness swells and starts a small hurricane in the upper galleries before he manages to get himself under control. Love is frustrating and Gabriel decides that he'd like to be frustrated for the rest of his life. He pulls Dean close, demanding his surrender. And Dean kisses him; desperation, submission and love mingling into a heady, overwhelming feeling that renders the cameras and the audience and the rest of the world utterly insignificant compared to the important task of kissing Dean. 

Witnessed by millions, Gabriel finally sinks to the floor, kneeling, surrendering to the man he loves more than anything in the world.


End file.
